"Mother. The flowers are stressing me out!" My second eldest daughter Elisabeth texted me this a couple of days after her birthday. I replied, "Why? Are they not blooming?"
I had ordered a flower delivery service to deliver a bouquet to her on her birthday. Flowers. Such an odd gift for me to purchase for anyone.
Twenty four hours after Elisabeth was born we brought her tiny little 5 lb. 8 oz. self home to our also tiny little apartment. Feeling exhausted, weak, and overwhelmed with missing my two-year-old I just wanted to come home to rest. Being my smallest baby, ironically it was my longest and most difficult labor and delivery. She arrived "sunny-side-up". The pressure on my lower back was relentless and I had labored the entire night and into the next day. I wanted nothing more than to come home, cuddle with my toddler and climb into my own bed.
The four of us walked into the door and feeling weak and light-headed, I immediately sat down in the recliner and propped my tiny bundle onto my shoulder, two-year-old Natalie immediately sidled up next to me. My eyes burned from lack of sleep. I closed them for just a moment. "Mama! Look what we got for you!" My eyes slowly opening they followed the direction her little finger pointed to the dining table. A bouquet of flowers, with two pink balloons anchored to it sat as a centerpiece. "Oh how pretty! Who brought these to us?" "Daddy did!"
My eyes glanced over to him. I gave a half-smile. "They're so pretty, but we have zero money for these." He said, "I know, Connie said I should get you flowers, that's it'd be a nice thing to do." I didn't dare ask how much they cost. I was running the numbers in my head of the now additional cost of diapers and the few supplies we'd need for me and a a newborn; my head started to spin. I closed my eyes again. I now felt ungrateful and rude in addition to my mounting feelings of exhaustion. I wanted to savor the moment with my two little girls, and I was letting the extravagant purchase of a bouquet and some balloons spoil the moment; not to mention an overwhelmed and confused husband trying to deal with his own feelings of overwhelm and mounting responsibility.
Day by day the bouquet of flowers shriveled as my own strength slowly returned. I have always maintained that the shift from having one child to then two children was entirely more difficult than two to three or even six to seven children.
"Sleep when the baby sleeps." This was actually made possible by my amazing mother-in-law who would walk the eight or so houses down the street to our apartment and appear at our door each day for the next two weeks; often with a pot of her famous home-made beans and whole-wheat bread. "You'll recover much quicker if you take a nap every day." She'd had nine babies of her own. I had ultimate trust in her and would without hesitation turn my toddler and baby over to her. Nursing the baby one last time, I'd lie down on my bed and listen to her murmuring to Natalie to go get some books for her to read. Listening to her voice would eventually lull me to sleep. She'd take our basket of dirty clothes home with her, and return it the next day laundered and folded. The cloth diapers I'd decided to use I'd keep and do myself, hanging them to dry on the clothes-line in the Arizona sun.
My own mother used to tell me, "To have good friends, you must be a good friend." I've thought a lot about that over the years. I think this reciprocating behavior applies to so many things. It also applies to gift giving. "In order to be a good gift-giver, you must be a good gift-receiver." In my nearly sixty years of life, I am trying to be both a better gift-giver and receiver.
I think Elisabeth's comment that the dying flowers were stressing her out likely stems (no pun intended) from her years of being my daughter. "Please don't get me flowers! They just die and I'd rather have something useful."
Waiting for the diapers on the clothesline, I'd sit in a lawn-chair. Natalie would run around collecting dandelions and bring me her little bright yellow bouquet, so pleased with herself. Heart-melting.
Funny how these quirks repeat themselves through generations. My mother, also disliked cut flowers. "If you insist on giving me a gift, perhaps a book or little living tree that I can plant would be lovely."
For Mama's funeral we purchased a couple of living pinon pine trees to place on either side of her casket. One survived being planted, the other didn't. I'm learning not to place so much emotion and attachment to such things. Perhaps writing about them keeps the memory alive forever, and that can be good enough.
I have been sending bouquets of flowers to people I love for the last few years. It's easier to send them than to receive them. Truthfully, when on occasion I do get flowers, I pause before saying anything. Instinctually I am inclined to be flustered about being gifted something, let alone something impractical and short-lived. I try to remember the meaning and feeling behind the gift and bask in the particular moment in time. The beauty of the flowers and of my relationship with the giver.
I texted Elisabeth back and suggested she try to feel about the bouquet of flowers, like she would feel eating a delicious meal. Enjoy the moment. Savor it. Let it be a happy memory.
Good advise for her mother.
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