In my early twenties, I would have openly mocked any woman seen wearing a colored macaroni necklace.
Today, I dressed myself carefully. I needed something dressy, yet casual. Practical, but not every day wear, and colorful, definitely colorful. And to top it off, la piece d'etre, if there is such a saying, my plastic bead bracelet, the one of every color and shape, the one that, most importantly, contains five magical beads that change color in the direct sunlight.
Today, you see, was the Mother's Day Tea at Alex's preschool. The bracelet, my gift from last year, lovingly created by my son. I wear it often. Each time it adorns my wrist, he drags me outside to show me the magic of the magical beads. He is proud of his gift and I am proud of him. Next to my wedding ring, this bracelet is my most cherished piece of jewelry.
Barbies and Disney princesses get a lot of flack these days, but let's be honest. There aren't many of us women out there who didn't grow up imagining the clear and glistening rock that would one day adorn our left hands. Most of us did. I know I did. We imagined the moment. The words of undying love. The glint of the sun as it bounced off the four C's of perfection that would forever announce to the world that we were cherished above all else. Was three months salary really too much to ask when contemplating eternity?
Then came the new campaign. The right hand diamond. The diamond that said to the world, "I am woman. Hear me roar." The rock that announced independence, a three figure salary and freedom. You deserve it, says the right hand diamond. You have earned it and you don't need a man to give it to you.
The left and right hand rocks both have their merit. I respect and understand them both. But the macaroni necklace is where it is really at. The macaroni necklace speaks to the heart of love, to the heart of cherished, to the heart of eternity.
The moment I came to own my magical bead bracelet went something like this...
"I made this for you, Mommy because I love you so much, and you know what? Those white beads, aren't really white. Go outside, Mommy. Those are magical beads. Let's go outside. You won't even believe this is true. You can wear it everyday because it has magic beads, but, Mommy, can I wear it sometimes too because I really like magical beads too."
And so goes the lifetime of love and sharing.
As I said, today was the Mother's Day Tea. A cuter, more heart-string tugging event, is hard to imagine. Eighteen little preschoolers dressed in their best, looking at once so grown up and still so tiny and vulnerable. The mothers sit on tiny chairs and benches and wait for them all to file in. One by one they come, for once quiet, overwhelmed by the enormity of the occasion. They all line up. There is the moment when their eyes scan the crowd, and then they light on their own mothers. The glow of relief and love. The, "Oh there she is" look of joy. They sing songs about mothers and love, teapots and stars, the look of joy and relief returning whenever their eyes rest on their own mothers, and of course, the mothers' eyes never move from the faces of their own precious children. The look says everything, to a mother. It is her acknowledgement that she has been there when she needed to be, that her child knows she will always be there when he needs her to be. It is the look of love. The look of promise. The look of a job well done. That look is everything. It says, "I am yours and you are mine."
And that is why the macaroni necklace, the magic bead bracelet, the tiny clothespin pin I was given today are more valuable than the most exquisite of gems.
The preschool performance gives way to punch and cookies. Alex is proud. He helped make the punch, and you know what? It has ginger ale in it. He asks politely if I would like a glass and he ladles it into the cup ever so carefully. Not a dropspill s. Well, almost. A couple of drops spill, but he lovingly licks those from the side of the glass, brings it to me and says with pride, "Here is your delicious punch. I licked it so no drops would get on you." If that is not love, I don't know what is.
I am given the beautiful pin, as I said, a tiny clothespin fashioned as a woman, her dress carefully chosen - flowery, because I like flowers, says its creator. I am also given a portrait of myself with one strand of tan hair and another flowery dress and a note that says, "My mom has blondish-blackish hair. She has brown eyes. She is 14 years old. Her favorite food is Chinese. For fun, my mom likes to play with me. I love my mom because she lets me do lots of fun things."
I look at my grown up, and yet so small boy. His hair is glistening. His eyes huge and blue. His lashes so long. His wrists so tiny and skinny I wonder if they have grown at all since the moment he was born. But, of course they have. Of course he has. And he will keep growing and changing and amazing me even as my heart swells and breaks and swells and breaks a million times over with the wonder of it all.
Someday, the magical bracelet won't be magical to him any more. But it will still be magic to me. Someday, that bracelet will embarrass him. Someday, I will probably embarrass him. But I will always keep the bracelet. And I will always try to be right where he needs me to be, waiting to catch his eye with a reassuring smile.
So, to all of you who will wear, or long to wear, your own one-of-a kind jewels this weekend - Happy Mother's Day. To my own mother, who is still catching my eye with a reassuring smile - Happy Mother's Day. I am sure if I looked in her jewerly box, I would still find a piece or two of purple macaroni.
Today, I dressed myself carefully. I needed something dressy, yet casual. Practical, but not every day wear, and colorful, definitely colorful. And to top it off, la piece d'etre, if there is such a saying, my plastic bead bracelet, the one of every color and shape, the one that, most importantly, contains five magical beads that change color in the direct sunlight.
Today, you see, was the Mother's Day Tea at Alex's preschool. The bracelet, my gift from last year, lovingly created by my son. I wear it often. Each time it adorns my wrist, he drags me outside to show me the magic of the magical beads. He is proud of his gift and I am proud of him. Next to my wedding ring, this bracelet is my most cherished piece of jewelry.
Barbies and Disney princesses get a lot of flack these days, but let's be honest. There aren't many of us women out there who didn't grow up imagining the clear and glistening rock that would one day adorn our left hands. Most of us did. I know I did. We imagined the moment. The words of undying love. The glint of the sun as it bounced off the four C's of perfection that would forever announce to the world that we were cherished above all else. Was three months salary really too much to ask when contemplating eternity?
Then came the new campaign. The right hand diamond. The diamond that said to the world, "I am woman. Hear me roar." The rock that announced independence, a three figure salary and freedom. You deserve it, says the right hand diamond. You have earned it and you don't need a man to give it to you.
The left and right hand rocks both have their merit. I respect and understand them both. But the macaroni necklace is where it is really at. The macaroni necklace speaks to the heart of love, to the heart of cherished, to the heart of eternity.
The moment I came to own my magical bead bracelet went something like this...
"I made this for you, Mommy because I love you so much, and you know what? Those white beads, aren't really white. Go outside, Mommy. Those are magical beads. Let's go outside. You won't even believe this is true. You can wear it everyday because it has magic beads, but, Mommy, can I wear it sometimes too because I really like magical beads too."
And so goes the lifetime of love and sharing.
As I said, today was the Mother's Day Tea. A cuter, more heart-string tugging event, is hard to imagine. Eighteen little preschoolers dressed in their best, looking at once so grown up and still so tiny and vulnerable. The mothers sit on tiny chairs and benches and wait for them all to file in. One by one they come, for once quiet, overwhelmed by the enormity of the occasion. They all line up. There is the moment when their eyes scan the crowd, and then they light on their own mothers. The glow of relief and love. The, "Oh there she is" look of joy. They sing songs about mothers and love, teapots and stars, the look of joy and relief returning whenever their eyes rest on their own mothers, and of course, the mothers' eyes never move from the faces of their own precious children. The look says everything, to a mother. It is her acknowledgement that she has been there when she needed to be, that her child knows she will always be there when he needs her to be. It is the look of love. The look of promise. The look of a job well done. That look is everything. It says, "I am yours and you are mine."
And that is why the macaroni necklace, the magic bead bracelet, the tiny clothespin pin I was given today are more valuable than the most exquisite of gems.
The preschool performance gives way to punch and cookies. Alex is proud. He helped make the punch, and you know what? It has ginger ale in it. He asks politely if I would like a glass and he ladles it into the cup ever so carefully. Not a dropspill s. Well, almost. A couple of drops spill, but he lovingly licks those from the side of the glass, brings it to me and says with pride, "Here is your delicious punch. I licked it so no drops would get on you." If that is not love, I don't know what is.
I am given the beautiful pin, as I said, a tiny clothespin fashioned as a woman, her dress carefully chosen - flowery, because I like flowers, says its creator. I am also given a portrait of myself with one strand of tan hair and another flowery dress and a note that says, "My mom has blondish-blackish hair. She has brown eyes. She is 14 years old. Her favorite food is Chinese. For fun, my mom likes to play with me. I love my mom because she lets me do lots of fun things."
I look at my grown up, and yet so small boy. His hair is glistening. His eyes huge and blue. His lashes so long. His wrists so tiny and skinny I wonder if they have grown at all since the moment he was born. But, of course they have. Of course he has. And he will keep growing and changing and amazing me even as my heart swells and breaks and swells and breaks a million times over with the wonder of it all.
Someday, the magical bracelet won't be magical to him any more. But it will still be magic to me. Someday, that bracelet will embarrass him. Someday, I will probably embarrass him. But I will always keep the bracelet. And I will always try to be right where he needs me to be, waiting to catch his eye with a reassuring smile.
So, to all of you who will wear, or long to wear, your own one-of-a kind jewels this weekend - Happy Mother's Day. To my own mother, who is still catching my eye with a reassuring smile - Happy Mother's Day. I am sure if I looked in her jewerly box, I would still find a piece or two of purple macaroni.
1 comment:
Jeannine,
I work with your Dad and have been following your posts since your journey to your beautiful daughter. Your writing has made me laugh, cry and everything in between. This particular post tugged at my heartstrings, especially since my son graduated from college this weekend. I still have the macaroni necklace that he gave me 17 years ago. It hung in my jewelry box for several years until the macaroni became dry and brittle. I just did not have the heart to throw it away so I ever so carefully put it a small envelope. I marked it "Save-gift from Aaron 1991 age 5." No matter how old your children are you will always treasure those precious gifts and remember the moment it was so proudly given to you. Thank you for expressing what I believe most mothers think and feel. Keep up your wonderful writing and enjoy your gorgeous children. Before you know it, you too will be storing those brittle macaroni necklaces in an envelope marked "Save".
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