With the Bombshell’s 7th birthday approaching it
bought back some not-so-good memories of my own 7th birthday.
Or what I thought I was my 7th birthday*.
‘Do you want to hear what happened on my birthday’ I asked
the girls as we drove to school one day.
Always eager for stories about ‘the olden days’, the girls
quickly agreed.
‘I was allowed to have an ‘S’ party, since my name was
Shannon, and everyone had to come as something that started with the letter ‘S’.
I had one friend come as a spider, with legs made from black stockings filled
with crunched up paper. Another friend stapled boxes of Smarties all over her
top.’
They wanted to know if we got to eat the Smarties and I told
them they were missing the point.
‘Your Grandma came as a ‘Supermum’, your grandad came as a ‘Scientist’,
and your Aunty, at the grumpy pre-teen age she was, came as a ‘Sister’ and she
refused to dress up.’
At the time this annoyed the crap out of me, but in
hindsight, I totally appreciate her understated approach.
‘What did you come as Mum, a SuperShannon?’ the girls
giggled.
My shoulders slumped.
‘You know what I wanted to come as?’ I asked them. ‘I wanted
to be a Snowflake. I wanted to wear a white leotard and a big white tutu skirt
and a beautiful hat in the shape of a snowflake. I wanted to be delicate and beautiful
and fragile.’
‘So did you get to be a Snowflake?’ the girls wanted to
know.
‘No. Your Grandma insisted I come as a Sausage.’
‘Uhhh what?’ they asked, quite reasonably.
‘A red sausage,’ I told them. ‘She sewed me a special
sausage suit, that frilled around my neck and my knees, and I had to wear a red
skivvy, and she made a special red sausage hat.’
There was silence in the car as they took in the enormity of
what I had just told them. They understood my pain at being made to dress up as
a sausage when I really wanted to be a snowflake. There is nothing delicate
about a four foot frankfurter.
So that afternoon, when they came home from school, they
drew me these pictures.
‘There you go Mum,’ the Bombshell told me. ‘You now get to
be a Snowflake.’
‘Me too, Mum,’ said the Mop. ‘I drewed you as a Snowflake Princess
Fairy.’
My heart broke as I stuck the pictures on the fridge. Three
decades later, and I was finally a Snowflake.
A few days later, I showed my mum the pictures. We stood in
silence for a minute.
‘I scarred you for life, didn’t I?’ she asked wryly.
‘Not for life, only for about thirty years,’ I replied.
I wonder what sort of damage I will do to my girls?
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* Turns out this wasn't my 7th birthday, but actually my 10th. We could find no photographic evidence whatsoever that I even HAD a 7th birthday.
What a beautiful story. I can imagine your heartbroken 7yo self. Glad your kids were able to give you closure. By the way, my mum who secretly told the hairdresser to cut all my hair off, when I desperately wanted to keep it long. It took me years to get over that one.
ReplyDeleteOh no, a sausage, seriously? You poor thing. Your girls are so sweet. But, I just can't get over the sausage.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful, a sausage what was she thinking. I know I have done the same to my girls, it trickles out occasionally. Rae xx
ReplyDeleteHaha, I scare myself because I feel like I would think this was hysterical to do to my daughter. However, she is very strong willed and would never let me so phew. :) Maybe that will limit the amount of damage I could potentially do.
ReplyDeleteMy mom played a scary trick on me years and years ago. We were in the car at night and she said she saw "two eyes." Kept saying it then screamed "Boo!" Traumatized for life haha ;)
God I laughed at this! Sausage, honestly! Freud would have a field day ...
ReplyDelete