I am the mother of three inimitable fairies. As such, it only stands to reason that I would be far different than other, “normal” mothers. I once felt inadequate to the Standard for Mothers, the one I could never quite reach, no matter how many cookies I baked (or burned) or field trips I chaperoned (never enough to meet the quota). As the years drift by, however, I feel uniquely qualified to raise this sweet tribe of three.
I’m not a cook, nor am I great at keeping house. I adore the jumble of mismatched, curious glassware, vintage plates and oddly shaped silverware that grace my humble kitchen. On any given day, opening my cabinets will treat your eyes to unexpected surprises. Nothing matches, but everything goes together quite, happily, well. This is a necessary ingredient for fairy-raising: you must find absolute delight in the bits of life that others mistake for ordinary.
I dance in my little green house. I put records on, love the scratchy sound of the needle on the record, and something wild and weird and wondrous happens in my heart as the music fills the room. I grabbed tiny fairy hands when they were little and twirled round and round with my baby fairies magical years ago, and sometimes, when I am blessed to have them with me, my fairy girls and I still dance together. Blessed Fairy Mother that I am, I also am glad that I know that in their own homes, wherever they are, my fairies dance and sing and make God happy with their honest joy.
I am the Mother of non-human fairies, or NHF, which is fairly common among Fairy Mothers everywhere. These loves of mine come with paws and bristly whiskers and wet tongues and pink noses and the most trusting love in this wide, tilting universe. My NHF climb onto beds with me, lie in my arms or along my back, or, in Fat Ollie’s case, just plop down wherever they can find a suitable spot to wedge themselves. I feed them, play with them, and listen to them when they speak (because, as all good fairy mommas know, NHF have a special language all their own).
My fairies are strong, resilient, compassionate, and kind. Their eyes shine with an inner light that is unmistakably fairy-like. They make magic like their peers make soup or grilled cheese…naturally and easily. They wave their little sparkly wands and heavy hearts become light as air, tears sprinkle into peals of laughter and life becomes intensely sweeter, transformed magically into a place of dreams and fantasies come true, and hopes made strong as tall oaks.
These fairy children did not have a traditional mother, one who cooked pot roast and potatoes or gave sensible talks about growing up to be successful in the corporate world. What they got, instead, was a friend to stand by them, a great champion of their art and their dreamy visions, and a heart that will beat alongside of theirs for eternity. I wasn’t normal, but neither are they, and that is, perhaps, the greatest magic of all.
In Other Words... 