A Strangely Amazing Mother’s Day
Almost a Mom, Always a Teacher!
It was wonderful to be back in the classroom, even if it was only for an hour history lecture. A special lecture on a Saturday! And surprisingly, the auditorium had filled for it, for her speech! And Cindy Lawson loved teaching and history. It had been a true delight when the dean had asked her if she was up to coming in for just a few hours and to talk about the holiday they were about to be celebrating. Mother’s Day! She was a mother now—even if her little one was still inside her, kicking away, but not quite ready to come into the world on his own!
She had taught in her own classroom until the seventh month of her pregnancy at which point, her husband Rocky, her friends, and her doctor had suggested that she sit back and relax until the baby came. And she had agreed, bowing to their worries and fears, though her own mother had worked hard in a restaurant until the day Cindy had been born!
She wasn’t going to dwell on the choices they had made. She’d been able to create all kinds of fun art for the baby’s room during her days at home, clean, prepare, and . . .
Yeah. Relaxing and choosing books and shows could be enjoyable. Even sleeping late! Something she never did.
But today . . .
Her auburn hair was swept up in a chignon; she was wearing a great professional pantsuit—even if it was a maternity pantsuit—and she was all ready to be a professional professor once again!
She stood at the podium in the auditorium, looking out at hundreds of faces. In a college situation, this group was majoring in history and ready to learn.
“Mother’s Day in the United States was created a national holiday in 1914, by President Woodrow Wilson. But before that, Anna Jarvis celebrated ‘Mother’s Day’ at St. Andrew’s Methodist Church in Grafton, West Virginia. But! Here’s the thing. The very concept of Mother’s Day goes back a couple of thousands of years, when human beings began to form societies and pagan religions took root. The Ancient Greeks celebrated Cybele and Rhea. They had great feasts and offered gifts of flowers and honey to their goddesses. The ancient Romans also celebrated Cybele. The Egyptians celebrated Isis, the mother of all pharaohs. The Chinese celebrate Nuwa—considered to be the first ‘mother,’ or the first being able to procreate. And in India, you will find all the legends Durga, the goddess of protection, strength, and motherhood. All are honored—and in most cases, such feasts and honors generally came with spring, a time of birth for the earth itself. You all have your email handouts on all this since it’s a lot.”
She loved sharing all that she had learned herself as a child. Her mother, while not a teacher, had been an amazing teacher for Cindy and her siblings. She had simply loved books and entertained her children with fiction and non-fiction and traveling about the country—and even abroad—when she could.
The lecture was wonderful, with the kids teasing her—she was evidently expecting her own. But they were great. And if was fun because in two days, they’d all be celebrating with their own moms.
But all things came to an end, and after all the kids had wished her the best of luck and were off to their next classes. She hurried to the office to thank Bob Gordon, the dean who had asked her in.
He was a good guy, an amazing boss. Mid-forties, both eternally responsible and equally human.
“So . . . any chance you’ll be a mom on Mother’s Day?” he teased. “Though the kids already think you’re a great ‘mom’ to them, you know.”
Cindy smiled. “And guess what, Bob? You’re really a great ‘mom,’ too!” she told him.
He laughed. “I suppose that being a mother really means that we nurture the young and help them grow. I hope I do it well, so . . . yeah. Feel free. Call me Mr. Mom!”
She laughed and thanked him for the day, assuring him she would be back. Then she left the campus and headed home. She would probably beat her husband there by about an hour or so. She’d only done the one afternoon lecture, and he never took off early; he was a tech for the local computer company and took his job very seriously.
She smiled as she drove. Marty’s sense of responsibility to his work—and to her—were a big part of the great guy that he was; and why—when it meant so much to him that she be careful—she’d agreed to take leave from teaching for her last months of pregnancy.
She pulled into the driveway. They had a great, historic home in Northern Virginia, the foundations of which went back to the American Revolution while a great deal of the reconstruction on the place had occurred during the Civil War. Now, it had the appearance of a well-loved Victorian manor with a swing on the wide porch, all freshly white-washed and welcoming. A great home in which to raise a kid—or kids! Who knew what the future might bring.
She left the car in the center of the semi-circular drive and hurried up the steps, unlocking the old bolt and hurrying into the entry. She thought with some amusement then that the house had what was often called ‘a grand parlor,’ a greatentry with a massive mantle and fireplace, and a grand staircase leading above. She wondered about the house once kids were running around it. Would they keep that parlor so pristine with its period loveseat and upholstered chairs, fine wooden coffee table and Persian throw rug? Probably not! But there was also a great back room, once a porch, now glassed in, where they could pack toys and books and hobby horses and . . . whatever their kids wanted to play with.
Okay, she couldn’t care less if they had a perfect parlor. But she did want to create an amazing playground in the back room. Toys, games, books. And a view of the great nature in the lawn that stretched out back.
She tossed her purse on a side table and headed toward the rear of the house.
She never heard a sound; never saw so much as a movement. Because there was none?
But she felt herself sliding into a fog . . .
And from the fog, into darkness.
*
Jackson
The Best Laid Plans . . .
Jackson knew he’d married the most amazing woman in the world. She could manage their entire tech department, handle dozens of agents in the field, and still create a home for himself and their son, Corby, and daughter, Victoria.
