The defining moments

The clock on the nightstand reads 6:45 in the morning. I get out of bed and get myself ready.  Once a month, I get the chance to meet up with a lovely group of women writers where we read our writings and give each other useful feedback.  I am hosting our monthly Writer’s Circle meeting today.   Over the course of time, these meetings have somehow evolved from sharing each others’ works to sharing each other’s passions, heartaches, experiences and of course, healthy food recipes.

Muffins, cakes and scones have become part of our gatherings on almost every occasion.  And since most of us are into healthy food, we always look for the healthy alternative. Eventually, we have come to call ourselves The Hague Spelt Muffin Literary Society, a name the talented Eva Laszlo-Herbert came up with.

This morning, I plan to bake chocolate muffins before my two little girls wake up.  And so I am standing in the kitchen, in the final stages of pouring the mixture into the muffin pans when Laura, my three year old wakes up and enters the kitchen around 7:45.  Her face lights up as she realizes that I am baking chocolate muffins.

Baking is our weekend ritual, something we do together in a relaxed pace, our mother-daughter bonding time. She always stirs the batter mixture with the hand mixer.  That’s how it usually goes.

Today was not one of those days. I just wanted the muffins to be done, get the girls dressed, fed and take them to the crèche and pick up the rest of the ingredients I needed from the supermarket to prepare a lunch of tabouleh and eggplant parmigiana before ten. I am used to accomplishing such tasks in a short period of time, as long as they go my way.

Laura kisses me a happy good morning as she excitedly pushes her kiddie step stool towards the kitchen counter and and happily proclaims, “I also want to help! I also want to help Mama!”

“Not today Poopsy, Mama is almost done and we are in a hurry, let’s get you dressed first,” I said cheerily.

The sides of her mouth curl downwards almost immediately, her lips quiver and her eyes well up as she tearfully pleads, “But I also want to mix Mama.”

My mind races tick tock, tick tock… and yet, yesterday is still so fresh on my mind.

We had a rough start the day before.  I was annoyed at her for insisting to wear a tight denim skirt. But I let her after deciding I was not going to make it a contest of wills. Anyone who has or had a three year old understands how these situations can easily turn into epic battles.  If she wants to wear the skirt fine let her wear the skirt.

True enough, some time after we finished breakfast and while I was about to put their coats on and bring them to the crèche she started whining that her skirt was too tight and she wanted to change her outfit. I told myself to stay calm.  I ran upstairs to fetch another outfit.  As I raced down the stairs she met me at the bottom landing with a big smile on her face as she proudly declared, “I let Kirsten drink from my cup of tea!”

I looked over to where Kirsten, her 17-month old sister was, saw tea splashed all over the floor and her sister’s clothes all wet.  I had an appointment in an hour’s time.

I clenched my jaws in anger and glared at her in frustration and chided her for what she did.  I went back upstairs again to change Kirsten’s clothes.

“Sorry,” she replied, retreating towards the wall.

As we were finally prepared to leave the house I turned to her and said, “I am not happy with what you have done.”

“I said I was sorry Mama,” she replied with her head dropping.

I pulled her close to me and straightened her coat.

“I know you said sorry, but Mama doesn’t like it when you don’t listen and insist on doing things I tell you not to do.”

She said okay and gave me a hug.  We walked to the crèche and exchanged kisses before I waved goodbye.  I remember feeling awfully sad as I was walking back home.   I realized how terrible it must be for any child to feel that kind of send off to school from an upset, distraught mother.  And for what? Spilt tea and a change of outfit?

I look at Laura standing in front of me now on her kiddie step, her eyes imploring.  I could choose to deny her the “help” she is offering and deal with the tantrum that would follow just so I can finish things on time as planned; or I could choose to give her this moment which she might look back to someday.  A sweet kitchen memory of baking chocolate muffins with mom on an early morning.

I see my daughter’s tearful eyes and quivering lips.  I take a moment before I react as I’m wont to.  I think of yesterday morning that I could never take back and my heart melts.

I give her the mixer.