# 8 - A Mother’s Work

Hamfast is 55, Bell 49, Hamson 16, Halfred 12, Daisy 9, May 5 and Sam is 1 (about 35, 31, 10, 7, 5 ½, 3, and 6 months in Man years)

1381 SR

There’s so much noise and commotion, I feel my head will burst. Everyone needs something done and I seem to be the only one they think can do it.

“These breeches need darning,” Hamfast says, holding up a worn-out pair of breeches that have seen better days. He’s wearing his second-best breeches, the ones that don’t quite fit right around the waist and that make him itch on the inside of his legs. “If I’m to be helping the Cottons with their sowing, I need somwhat as I can be comfortable in.”

“Fred and I are supposed to bring sticky buns to the sowing party at the Noakes’,” Hamson informs me now. He and Halfred have to be on their way in under an hour if they’re to be at the Noakes farm on time to begin the sowing. Hamfast will be dropping them off on his way to the Cottons, so his breeches need to be done in the same amount of time.

“Don’t forget the sandwiches!” Halfred calls from his room across the way, where he’s still getting dressed. He comes out now with his shirt buttons half done up and in the wrong holes, and his braces hanging down unhelpfully, his breeches sagging a little as he hasn’t filled them out yet. “We were supposed to tell you last night, Mom, but we forgot. Missus Noakes was wondering if you could make some of those cucumber sandwiches as you make so well. There’ll have to be enough to feed forty for luncheon.” He smiles innocently, as further down the tunnel, the lasses shriek.

A half-minute later, Daisy and May come running into the kitchen, darting around their father’s and brothers’ legs. May is running away from Daisy, who is in hot pursuit. “You pulled out my hair!” Daisy cries and I see she is holding a spot on her head and that May is clutching a hairbrush.

“I didn’t mean too!” May says and wisely hides behind her father.

“I told you as you were pulling too hard,” Daisy accuses, her hands on her hips. “Mom! She pulled out my hair!”

“You lasses stop it, right now,” Hamfast orders. “Your mother is busy. She needs to sew up my breeches.”

“She has to make our sandwiches,” Hamson and Halfred say as one.

“I need my hair done proper!” Daisy says, her lower lip wobbling.

“I’m hungry,” May says from behind her father. “My stomach won’t stop grumbling and I couldn’t concentrate.”

They start talking over each other, and from my room, the bairn starts to cry. “Now you’ve woken your brother!” Hamfast hollers and silence falls over the kitchen as the bairn wails.

I sigh and remind myself that I love my family and wouldn’t trade them for aught. Then I hold out my hand for the breeches. “Ham-dear, see to Sammy while I stitch up your breeches. He just needs to be changed it sounds like. Hamson, Halfred, finish making breakfast. Daisy, you can wait until after breakfast for your hair to be brush. I know it hurt when May accidentally pulled it out, but that’s no reason to carry on so. Be a big lass. May, help Daisy to peel all the cucumbers that we have, then blend the seasonings like I showed you last time.”

“Yes, Mom,” the children agree. Hamfast hands me his breeches and goes to change the bairn. I go to the parlor and get the sewing kit from a drawer in the tea table. I sit in my chair by the hearth and have the breeches stitched before Hamfast brings Sammy, still whimpering slightly, and hands him to me. We switch the breeches for the bairn, and I sit with Sammy while I feed him and rock him, singing softly. His little lashes tickle my breast as his eyes flutter closed and his little hand grabs into my skin to anchor himself where he is. I gently nudge a finger under his fist and thankfully he grabs hold of that instead.

I can hear Hamfast in the kitchen now, helping to fix breakfast and letting into the lads for waiting until the last minute to tell me about the food I am expected to make. By the time Sammy is fed and satisfied, breakfast is on the table, and the lasses are making progress on slicing the cucumbers. I see that they’re all fed, sit Sammy in his highchair, and take over the task of making the sandwiches.

“Aren’t you going to eat, Mom?” Hamson asks.

“I’ll eat shortly. You lads need to hurry up and eat, and Halfred, you’re not leaving the smial looking like that.”

I don’t have enough for forty sandwiches, so I cut them in thirds and add into the basket the remaining meat cakes from yesterday’s dinner that I had stored in the larder for my luncheon today. Then I dig around for some treats and come up with sweet biscuits and butterscotch drops. I bag these into separate satchels and add them to the basket and wrap the basket into a blanket.

“That’ll have to do,” I state as the lads finish eating and take their nearly-clean plates to the washbasin. Hamfast finishes at the same time.

“Let’s go,” he says and heads outside, leaving his plate on the table. Hamson and Halfred start to follow.

“Fred,” I say in my no-nonsense tone. “What did I say?” He turns and faces me, and subjects himself to my inspection. I button up his shirt correctly and stuff the tails into his breeches, which I also button up before he can protest. Then I snap the braces into place and grab the hairbrush off the table without looking for it and run it through his hair several times, ignoring him as he cringes.

“Now you’re going to pull out my hairs,” he complains.

“Serves you right for not getting yourself ready timely,” I say. I turn him around and pat him on the bum, declaring him ready to go. The lasses snicker as he goes to join his brother and father outside. “The basket!” I call after him and he comes back, plucks the basket from the counter and dashes outside again.

The lasses finish eating and I gently brush out Daisy’s hair, pulling it back with a ribbon. May wants her hair braided and that takes more time. All the while, Sammy sits in his highchair, blathering to himself and playing with some cucumber squares that someone had given him earlier. He smacks a fat, chubby hand over one of the squares, attempts several times to grab it up into his fist before succeeding, then stuffs the square into his mouth, smiling triumphantly as he munches on it. I laugh at him fondly and send the lasses to play outside in the garden as I wash the dishes and alternately eat what’s left of breakfast. There are lukewarm eggs and bacon still in the frying pan, and I eat directly from the pan rather than dirty another dish.

I’m halfway through the dishes when Sammy squeals happily. I turn around to find that he has discovered a way of catapulting the cucumber squares from his tray and onto the kitchen walls. I gobble down the last bites of food, finish washing the breakfast dishes and set the frying pan in the washbasin to soak. I then clean up Sammy’s hands and face, tickling him as I do so and laughing as he squeals with delight. As he’s laughing, I clean up the rest of the squares from his tray in one quick swipe of the rag. I clean the rag in the dishwater and quickly wipe down the wall and the floor around Sammy’s chair. I hand him a clean rag dipped in fresh water to munch on when he starts squirming and fussing, then quickly put away the dishes, wash the frying pan and clean up the kitchen to a sparkle.

“Daisy! May!” I call through the kitchen window. “Come in and watch your brother while I dress, and then we’ll go to Missus Rumble’s.”

“Yay!” the lasses exclaim. They come inside, blessedly free of dirt or grime and still looking prim. Daisy struggles to get her brother from his highchair and carry him to the parlor. I make sure they’re playing contentedly with some woodblocks before retreating to my room.

I close the door and lean against it, sighing deeply. Finally, some time to myself. I pour water into the ewer and step out of my dressing gown, ready to taking a standing bath and trying to decide which dress I should wear. I haven't worn the pink one with the yellow flowers in a while, and it would be nice and cool for the day, which was already growing warm. I dip the washcloth into the water and start to wash my neck.

Then I hear a thud from the parlor and I close my eyes before May even says, “Oooh! Daisy! I’m telling! MOM! Daisy knocked over the lamp!”

“I did not!”

“You did too!”

“I did not!”

“You did too!”

“It was Sammy!”

On cue, Sammy starts to cry.

With another sigh, I abandon my bathing, pull on the first dress I lay my hands on and go to the parlor to sort out who did what.

A mother’s work is never done.
 
 
 

GF 5/14/06