RESPECT

They came home to be safe. 

Their bedrooms live again with their presence. No longer are their rooms for guests; tidy, clean and presentable. Clothes appear on the floor and cold cups of coffee materialize on bedside tables. 

They are adults now. The bottom wiping days are long gone but so are their obedient minds. Not anymore are they so malleable or accepting of my benevolent dictatorship. 

We all have things that we have to get done. No one is on holiday.

We know that we have to be mindful, polite, organised and considerate of each other’s space. Reason, in large doses, is required. Good manners are obligatory and an upgraded internet plan a necessity.

We avoid each other for most of the day. We relent to sit down together for dinner. The initial couple of nights are a pleasant catch up, social and light. Now it is towards the end of our first week quarantined together and voices are raised around the table. My voice. 

Cursorily I am told that I cannot talk over someone, that shouting is not helpful. Me, surely not me. Mortified and offended I sit there lost for words, looking at the kitchen clock, willing this farce to be over.

The next evening meal I practice not interrupting, only to find it impossible to break into the conversation. Every time I go to contribute I am talked over. The dinner table is now a battleground. My conversational abilities, what is left of them, are the main casualty. 

I listen actively, carefully. Although there is plenty for me to comment on I resist showing off my vast and insightful knowledge. I do not talk unless I am directly addressed. I sit here - attentive, outwardly amenable, churning inside.

To help me through this unforeseen trial I focus on cooking meals worthy of good conversation. I hold my own imaginary discussions while I cut, chop and cook. It works out better for me that way.

Some groceries are in short supply but there are plenty of potatoes from our vegetable garden. A small kindness in these times, as my family adore potatoes. They struggle to contemplate a meal without them in some shape or form. Personally, I can do without them.

What adds to any niggling resentment that I have is that they go to bed early. Who would have thought? I know that they disappear to talk with their partners and share movies on their laptops. But still, I am ready to give up a bit of my alone time.

I go for the chocolate once they are in bed. The dog sits up with me. He gets the odd piece, simply because he is there.

I determinedly stay open to their thoughts and wishes and do not gush about mine - and all is peaceful. Seems that I have found my new sweet spot and we might get through this after all.

The weeks march on. We all stay in, keeping well. Meals happen. Conversations around the dinner table continue but I feel unseen, unheard by them. 

Today starts out as others have done. We discuss the schedules for on-line lectures and parts of the house are subsequently divided up. Noisy chores are putt off until late afternoon when all the zoom meetings will be over. The only exception today is that I got up early, before sunrise early. 

Because of that happenstance I got through a power of work by mid morning. The rest of my day is now free, except for walking the dog. Great opportunity for a slow cooked meal with some fancy vegetables.

By midday I have all the food preparation done and I put the meat on. The dog and I depart for our allowed hour of winter sunshine and puddles. Both of us are ready for a quiet sit on our return. I settle down in the big chair to read, dog asleep on the floor next me. No one bothers us except to ask what time dinner will be. I am noncommittal.

I rouse myself to cook the vegetables and give everyone the customary half hour warning. Tonight I will be in bed early and pleased to be there.

All the food is on the table and we sit down to enjoy our feast. Then it hits me. 

Yes, the requisite vegetables are there accompanying the pulled lamb; carrots in honey, beans and sprouts in garlic, pumpkin roasted with cinnamon and fresh peas cooked in a hint of mint. No potatoes. 

I am horrified and say so, getting in first, not apologising, just getting in first.

Funny thing is that I had not forgotten the potatoes, rather I did not even think of doing potatoes.

They look at me blankly. I laugh, more of a chuckle really.

‘No dramas Mum, plenty here. What have you been up to today anyway?’ Slowly I think the question through, turning it over deliciously, letting it mellow, allowing it to breathe.

‘Work, cooking, walking with the dog, reading, cooking, listening to you and now eating.’ I say this softly, with humour.

‘Did you get the piece finished then, the one you have been working on?’ 

‘Yeah, can we read it?’

‘Of course, I would value you opinions, but only if you have time.’ I say with metered enthusiasm.

‘Cool, send it to me. So where did you walk with the dog today?’

‘We went down by the creek to check out if there has been any flood damage. We will probably go again tomorrow if you want to tag along.’ I invite, it is not an order like I would have given weeks ago. 

‘Think I might come actually, some fresh air would be good along with some one on one time with you.’ I may be disappointed if it does not happen. I will not be hurt.

‘How about we all watch a movie tonight and munch on some chocolate? About time we had some down time together.’ We agree on a film. They beg a little time for a quick chat with their other halves, and we agree a start time.

I flop into bed some hours later, much later than anticipated. With a hint of a smile lingering around my eyes, and my stomach complaining, some stray thoughts come to me.

I quite like my grown children.

Must leave potatoes out of the evening meal more often. It is evident they promote difficult times at the dinner table, inhibit motherly growth and do nothing to foster respect.

This I can take for however long it is visited on me.