Trena Eiden

God bless mothers everywhere. They endure a lot.

A few years ago, our then, 5-year-old grandson Dane, and grafted-in-daughter, were at the batting cages. Dane had to use the restroom, a glorified port-a potty, so his mom gave him some privacy by standing outside. After waiting for quite some time, she inquired, “Are you done yet?” Dane answered, “Yup, just putting on my shoes.” Startled, his mom quickly asked, “Why are your shoes off?” Dane happily quipped, “It’s easier to take off my pants.”

If you aren’t a mother and are feeling left out, be happy knowing you were able to eat a chocolate bar without hiding in the shower. This scenario was forced upon me numerous times. New moms don’t realize a toddler, if given something he likes, can eat more than a lumberjack, yet when a mother sits down to the table, will beg for bites from her plate like a golden retriever. She has to be clever to keep from starving.

Also, young mothers must be taught the world’s best kept secret: moms sneaking treats on the down low are what keep her from homicidal thoughts. I have a friend with grown children who foiled her kids through all of their growing up years. There was a prunes container in her cupboard which she kept filled with whatever candy she chose and they never caught on. Mothers are ingenious. That’s where “Necessity is the mother of invention” came from.

My eldest child will turn 39 in a few days and it’s a mystery how he managed to catch up, then skip ahead to become older than me, but he sure did. Truth is stranger than fiction. I mentioned this to him and he said, “My mom is stranger than fiction, and probably anything else.” I took it as a compliment. He’s acknowledging my existence.

Last fall, he and I hunted together, and Gar worried that I wasn’t in good enough shape to keep up — plus the route chosen (not by me) put us on a death-defying passage. As I panted, puffed and wheezed, we clawed our way to the top of a steep mountain. I felt my life ebbing away, it was such a treacherously steep climb, but when I glanced up and realized my darling boy was out of breath and gasping too, I immediately felt better.

Can you imagine, deriving pleasure in seeing flesh of my flesh struggling to breathe? I’m obviously evil, what kind of mother does that? I’ll tell you: one who has a child who willingly picked a trail which could possibly cause the demise of someone who nursed him from her breast. When I mention these things, my children get an anguished expression, and I don’t think it’s from remorse.

Perhaps ungrateful offspring could explain why doe deer, with fawns in tow, leap out in front of our trucks. Our daughter witnessed this one spring and when she told me the story she said, “For some reason I thought the doe would be a good mama and stop at the side of the road, you know, like she was going to teach her baby to look both ways. Instead she ran right across and he came too. She was like, ‘Throwin’ ya in the deep end, sink or swim.’”

Sometimes people who don’t know me very well, will say, “I’ll bet your kids really enjoy being with you.” I always reply, “Oh, they’re like their dad and mostly just endure me.” Often, they’ll say, “I’ll bet your kids think you’re funny.” For the record, no they don’t, and they daily thank God and all the angels that I wasn’t put on earth as their sole source of entertainment.

Recently a woman said, “I’ve never had children but yours will surely miss you when you’re gone.” Patting her hand, I said, “I’m a realist and I’m pretty sure they’ll be a lot less emotional than you think.”

So, if you’re not a mother, take heart: your kids wouldn’t have thought you were funny, either. In fact, they would have been much like my offspring and would have been orchestrating a plan to put us on an ice floe at this very moment. The last known case of Eskimos doing this was 1939, so we can rest easy. Actually, it never would have been a worry for me. The kids would have had to physically pick me up and tote me to the ocean and well, you know, I like cake.