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Julie Cole*
My ninety-two-year-old grandmother has given
birth to a lot of babies. She had babies in the 1930s, 40s,
50s, and 60s. She was collecting the baby bonus and old-age
pension at the same time. Grandma is as wise as she is old,
so when she talks, this humble creator of five babies drops
everything and listens.
Grandma thinks women should not gather and
talk about their kids. At first I found this to be a very
strange perspective. I have five small kids and can turn every
conversation into a discussion around their accomplishments,
challenges, teachers, activities, poops, pukes, and sleeping
patterns. What more is there going on in my life? If not for
kiddie-gab, is there much else I can say?
That is precisely her point. I once returned
from a weekend away with my longtime girlfriends. You know
the kind of gals I’m talking about — the ones
who have been around since the beginning of time. They were
there holding your hair back while you puked up the peach
schnapps you guzzled in the school parking lot before the
dance. They remember when you got your driver’s license,
cried with you that first time your heart was broken, and
would share your single dorm room bed during a weekend visit.
These are the gals who were your bridesmaids and actually
knew what you were like before you were someone’s momma.
The weekend was geared to be a fantastic
catch-up with the old gang and Grandma gave me strict instructions
to report back to her with all the gossip and antics the weekend
held. However, come Monday morning, the two of us sat with
our cups of tea and I delivered a shockingly boring report.
I walked away from that weekend knowing that Little Johnny
was an exceptional reader and Little Janey is the best player
on her soccer team, but didn’t know much else.
Lamenting this, Grandma perked-up and told
me it was time to implement “The Rule.”
As a young mother, Grandma occasionally
gathered with a group of women. It was one of the very rare
occasions they did not have their children with them. She
set a rule for the group. No one was permitted to even whisper
her child’s name. “The Rule” was complied
with and these women enjoyed many years of social gatherings,
discussing every topic imaginable — except their kids.
The next year came quickly and our annual
weekend together was around the corner. The e-mails started
flying — deciding who was driving, who was cooking,
who was bringing the wine! Now was the time to suggest “The
Rule,” but I was concerned with how it would be received.
I was telling people I didn’t want to hear about their
kids — the bonus was they didn’t have to hear
about mine!
The two childless friends immediately responded
to me. I had been elevated to hero status in their eyes. The
other e-mails started trickling in. Everyone agreed that it
was time for “The Rule” to be passed onto our
generation.
No one will dispute that your children are
all consuming and have a way of taking over your entire existence.
Even my grandmother would readily agree. I once heard someone
say having a child is like watching your heart walk around
outside of your body. True enough, but every once in a while
you need to step back and find that little piece of yourself
that sometimes gets lost in the school meetings, hockey practices,
and music lesson drop-offs. For this busy momma, it is officially
one weekend a year, but I try not to let the lesson of “The
Rule” stray too far.
*Julie Cole is one of the founding mompreneurs
of Mabel’s Labels Inc, and is the mother of five small
children. www.mabel.ca
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