A Mother's Gift

Last night I took my smallest to the fireworks display at the school. Usually, due to the amount of kids I have and the cost of us all getting in, plus the amount we’d spend once inside, we watch them from the window or, like last year, we stood in the lane beside the school and watched them there. If we went inside the school, what with the ticket cost and each child having something of everything there, we’d be talking upwards of fifty pounds. Not happening.

Last year, Smallest asked if we could afford to actually go inside next time because there were fairground rides, sweetie stalls, the candy floss man, and all manner of joyous things to do. I remember saying yes, thinking that the finances would be better by now. They aren’t, and I worried about how I would be able to manage us all going this year because I’d promised.

Anyway, as it happened, only Smallest wanted to go, and I was able to afford the tickets plus a few bits inside. With only one child to pay for, it didn’t break the bank. Just to be able to take her inside made my day, just to see the delight on her face, because as we walked home from school yesterday, she’d mentioned all her class asked if she was going and she’d said no. I knew she wanted to go desperately, but she never went on about it, just accepted that she couldn’t go. After working out my money, I called her into the kitchen and whispered that I would take her. Her face! Offer me a thousand pounds at that minute versus seeing her face and the face would win.

Off we went, and as we drew closer, we heard the music and laughter. Even that set her off bouncing. Once inside, I watched her as she took it all in, knowing she thought: I’m finally in here! I got to go!

I’ll admit the emotion got a bit much for me and I kept having to hold back tears. She got some candy floss, she had a glowing, flickering light sabre, a glowing necklace, and then the firework display. I spent the whole time with my hands clamped over her ears, staring up at the pretty sparkles thinking back to my own childhood. If I went to a display, I can’t for the life of me remember it, so being there was also like the first time for me. And the tears started rolling. I’d given my child the memory of being at a display, something I never had, and something most children there have taken for granted their whole lives. To us it was a wonder to be savoured, something so simple, and I was given one of those times in life where the whole planet disappeared except for me and her.

I love those special moments, and to be honest, I wanted to sob, but of course, being surrounded by the crowd prevented that. Yet I thought: If I want to sob, why shouldn’t I? What does it matter if people see and give me odd looks? Once again, society and its rules, as it so often does, stopped me from being myself and just going with what felt right. Tainted the moment for a second, but there you go.

After the display, she had a ride on the swinging pirate ship, trying valiantly to not throw up, glancing at me waiting in the crowd every few seconds because, I’ll admit it, we’ve sheltered her as much as we can from the harshness of life. We want her to be a child for as long as possible—they grow up so fast these days, and around here, some adopt the snobbery of their parents, who look down on people who aren’t loaded with cash.

And then, wonder of wonders for my girl, I told her she could have a glowing balloon. They have little lights inside and are so cool. She’d eyed them earlier, and I’d said no because I didn’t want to carry the thing around while we were there due to the high winds. Off we went to buy one, and the lady selling them said we could have one for 50p because it was time to pack up. She struggled to get the colour Smallest wanted out of the bunch, and then said, “D’you know what, have them all!”

How I didn’t cry again at the look on my girl’s face I don’t know. Ten balloons were handed over, and she looked like she might cry herself from shock.

Sometimes, good things do happen. Sometimes we’re rewarded in the smallest of ways, generous gestures like that woman’s. Sometimes, the gift of knowing you gave your child a memory she’ll cherish for the rest of her life makes all the struggles worthwhile.

***

I'm also blogging HERE today about the trials and tribulations of waxing...

Have a great day and a great weekend, everyone!