THIS IS A CAUTIONARY TALE, PART I : FOR MOMS.

I watched quietly as my arterial blood centrifuged in the blender, having just exited my body through the tip of my left middle finger, wandering what the dying thought of Robespierre, inventor of the guillotine, might have been in the googasecond before the blade descended upon his own neck.

I also (in a dull flash) realised that a future life of fighting and battling Evil could be too painful for me, given that it was currently just fragments of my favourite finger now swirling around with chunks of chopped apple, and also we might have to toss out the pie.

My Mom, after the fact, as I held my throbbing, stitched-up finger mummified in gauze: I just wish it could have been me instead.

Me, at seven, agreeing completely.

In between sobs: I forgive you, Mom.

She squeezed me tight: It was my fault. I should have been right there with you while you were chopping apples.

I just wanted to help you make pie! I choked between hacking coughs as the pain refused to numb. Why did you let me help? Why did you let me do something dangerous?

I'm so sorry Joey, she said again quietly. Were you pushing the apples down into the chute using the safety attachment like I showed you?

Of course I was! I screamed respectfully. I know you told me to use the safety attachment, but you only told me five times…WHY DIDN'T YOU REMIND ME AGAIN! This didn't have to happen! Why did you let it happen, Mom, why did you let me help you when you knew that if I didn't listen to you then I could get injured badly?"

I'm so sorry, she said over and over, and kept holding me tight, probably to lessen her own guilt.

I was thinking today that it would make a great little film, with seven-year old Me as the protagonist and the villain being…well, it's obvious. There's a great scene of redemption at the end, when she begs forgiveness over and over, and I finally grant it. I don't know who would play me, but if Martin Short has any grandkids than I think one of them could be perfect, regardless of gender. And I think Kate Beckinsale would play my Mom at 30, because she has a good amount of fierceness, scowling, and a little kindness that comes out here and there.

And then I was thinking about one of my guilty pleasures, Kate's 2001 rom-com with John Cusack, Serendipity, which is a lovely story, although filled with questionable relational advice, and I remembered the wonderful ice skating scenes in Central Park, and how effectively they used St. Germaine's stunning, acid-y jazz electronic track Rose Rouge,

I want you to get together /
put your hands together one time

(over and over and over and over)

I am really glad my Mom wasn't playing that song on the way to the hospital, because then my enjoyment of the Greatest Song Ever would be associated with a horrific event, instead of being tied into a beautiful fairy tale romance of strangers falling in love during a New York City winter.

So I guess a couple things I learned:

1) don't invent things that could someday be turned on you,2) milk an injury for all you can,3) try to forgive people, even when they don't prevent you from hurting yourself, and4) even though my Mom didn't protect me, or effectively teach me how to obey one-hundred percent of the time, we made it through those failures and are friends, and now, I am the parent who is teaching my own young children how to bake…and this time I will do it the right way, and make sure that no one ever, EVER gets hurt on my watch, thus blaming me for unsafe parenting.
5) if something really bad starts to happen, then make sure you're not listening to something you like a lot, otherwise your memory of that song could forever be tarnished. It's true. No more Bryan Adams for me, but that's another story.

My scarred finger is beginning to throb, which it does when the weather gets very cold, which reminds me that the roof could be getting icy, so it's probably not safe for the kids to be building forts up there anymore as it approaches nightfall. See? Effective parenting is about pre-emptive safety measures. Good-bye.

****
St. Germaine
Rose Rouge
Tourist
2000

A Morality Tale I Tell My Daughter In Which I Compare Myself to a Young Abraham Lincoln, and Try to Make Some Money By Not Getting Caught Nose-picking.

Once upon a time, I was a little boy. Although you may think that I did everything exactly right when I was younger - 

Magdelana: 

- You didn't.

You don't need to agree so strongly. But you know what? You are correct. And you know who else didn't do everything right when he was a young boy?

- Who?

Abraham Lincoln. There's a lot of things that Abraham Lincoln and I have in common. For example both of us made mistakes when we were young boys. We all have our struggles. Just like Abraham Lincoln struggled with honesty when he was a young lad - and later on, of course, he became known as 'Honest Abe, because he was so honest. Well, who knows: maybe it was a challenge for him to learn how to be honest when he was younger. I don't know, and nobody really does, because there's no photographs proving his honesty as a young boy. So my query is: do you think he was always honest? Or do you think he had to work on it when he was younger? 

- I think he had to work on it when he was younger.

Yeah, I agree. We all have things we need to work on. For example, maybe Abraham Lincoln needed to work on his honesty. Well, I had something that I had to work on too, and that was picking my nose. I liked to pick my nose a lot when I was younger. Do you think that Moms usually think that nose-picking is really cool, or really gross?

- Really gross.

Unfortunately, you are correct. That is what my Mom thought too. So she said: Joey, this is what we're going to do: If you go a whole day without picking your nose, and I don't see you pick your nose, then I will pay you… - it was either a quarter or a dollar. It was a significant enough amount that I was determined to make sure my Mom did not see me pick my nose. 

It's an awful thing, because when you're seven years old you're not allowed to drive, so I couldn't just hop in an automobile and drive away to make sure my Mom didn't SEE me pick my nose. Which meant that I had to hang out with her all day. Do you know how hard Moms are to get away from when you live in the same house, and you're trying to find some privacy to do things like pick your nose while you're reading a book, or making lunch, or practicing piano, or things like that? It's really hard to pick your nose in private when you're doing those things and your Mom is around. 

So it was really challenging, but I kept working on it, and hiding from her. Maybe how 'Dishonest Abe,' as I like to think he was called when he was younger, needed to practice being truthful…what is something you're working on right now, Magdelana?

- Umm…going to sleep.

Okay, cool. So you're trying to practice sleeping more, or sleeping less?

- Just going to sleep. 

Is that hard to do?

- Yeah. 

Good for you! You're practicing, like me and Abraham! Excellent.

(beat)

So anyway, I was practicing not getting caught, and I was trying so hard, but I kept having to interrupt what I was doing, and this was really my Mom's fault for trying to change who I was. But, I did go the whole day without my Mom seeing me pick my nose, and in the end I got paid. And I think what that goes to show, is that sometimes you have to work hard to find yourself some privacy. And that's also something me and Abraham Lincoln have in common: perseverance. Thank goodness for walls. And also, be sure to clarify exactly what the expectations are. And try to save your nose-picking for private times, like when you're driving your automobile and people can't see you.

- What do you mean…'walls?'

Walls to to hide behind when my Mom was trying to catch me picking my nose. 

- That was a very short story.

I know. Go to sleep.