My mother's sewing machine blinks and whirs like a UFO. It flickers blue and then beeps when it wants you to reverse a stitch. It whirs when you hit the "Cut" button. It truly nearly does all the work for you when you sit down to sew.
All three children gather closely around my mother as she sews new wardrobes for their various bears and dolls. It was Tian who started it. "Hospital Bear needs some new clothes so that the Omani bears won't make fun of her." (Some of you may remember when Hospital Bear was a boy...clearly the bear has turned androgynous since 2006).
And so my mother, Murmur, is squinting at minuscule stitches, fashioning a tiny head scarf and long robe for HB. Tehva crowds her elbow and Silas breathes steamily on her neck, watching each turn and whir of the needle.
When she finishes the first garment,working with sweat shop speed, she whips out a shawl for Silas's Purple Bear and then a modest cap for Tehva's Bitty Baby. Then she deems that all stuffed things should be appropriately attired for Oman.
Still without visas, tickets, or even a departure date, yet fully moved out of our house in Emporia, our days have recently grown cozy and lax. As there is no definite departure date toward which we are flying, I can find ten minutes here and there to lay on the futon and savor the children drooling on my mother, asking her whether or not she has ever sewn her finger.
"No? Well, why not?" Tehva persists, looking for a tale of gore and intrigue. There is none forthcoming.
In the last four years I have been afforded precious few days that have allowed this degree of lazing and reflecting. With work, school, after-school activities, countless opportunities for socializing, Y-time, a pool membership, homework....there has been no time for quiet, watchful seeing. I have had little time to journal or blog or write anything. I have had little time to sit and think.
The unexamined life that is not worth living has been, well, worth it. But I have missed the time to see and think. I am a little out of practice to tell the truth.
This afternoon on the futon, though, is allowing me to see how the children will miss their family while we are away. I can see how closely they are pressed into Murmur, breathing on her, licking her while she sews itty-bitty bear clothes. I can see that they are so comfortable moulding their bodies to hers.
As I remain prone on the futon, I debate the wisdom in making an overseas move once again, weighing the foolishness of our plan to take the children so far away from family for so many months. I stumble upon many good reasons not to go. Tian, Silas and Tehva continue to press and question my mother, oblivious to my doubts.
In my classroom last year I had a balance scale with a set of shiny brass weights. A handful of my students were fascinated with balancing those weights against all manner of items--a cupful of dirt, a spoonful of water, plastic toys. Always the weighing was preceded by debate..."Do you think this will be heavier? Do you think I will need more weight? This is going to be so cool!"
They would endlessly shuffle the weights, remove items, and change both sides just as quickly as they could get things to balance. Making those decisions, tipping the scales, and playing with different combinations and outcomes was FUN. And the kids learned while they whittled and weighed.
So we will go to Oman (hopefully soon!) and shift the balance of our lives, hoping that we don't cause things to fly too out of proportion too quickly. And at the end of the three-year contract we all will have grown. And all things will balance, I hope.
Bigger children will mean more drool for Murmur's arm!
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