Her Hands

When I was young I remember looking at my mom’s hands.  They weren’t usually painted or particularly fancy, but I loved them.  I saw my grandmother’s hands when I held those hands.  Her long fingers, the knuckles a little knobby and her veins visible.  I still love my mom’s hands.  They have aged and are still beautiful to me.  They hold memories of all of my childhood in them.

When my own kids have sat beside me and taken my hands, usually in a chapel pew, or while watching a movie together- Each has examined my hands.  Sometimes they push my veins around because it’s gross, but most of the time they just look at them and comment on how old they look or how much they look like Grammy’s hands. They are great at making me feel young.  Today though… as Lainy held my hand I felt her bending my fingers, open close, open close… She said, “that’s weird, you’re fingers… they creak. I can feel them; they creak when I bend them.  You know, like an old door.”  Super. Creaky old door hinge hands.

I did get a bit of a rebound when I subbed in primary today.  Cute 4-year-old Michael sat atop my knee and held my hands in his.  I could feel that he was assessing them.  He asked me to clasp my fingers together and he lifted them up to his little face.  Then I heard him sniff, you just never know what will happen while holding a 4 year old boy. “Ooooh, your hands smell good” Sniff, sniff.  “Like peppermint” Thank you bath and body works, I’ll take it.  It’s certainly a step up from the creaky door hinge comparison.

Jayce has never been one for outward affection in the public eye.  (Ask him about the time I kissed him square on the lips in Walmart if you see him, I thought I was hilarious.  He did NOT) I love holding hands, and when Jayce was in the “middle” years, you know those years that teenagers get a little squirrely about being embarrassed by their parents?  I tried to reach over while we were sitting next to each other and hold his hand.  He of course, was not up for that., and pulled his hand away like I had tried to cut it off or something.  Then it evolved and became a game.  I would try and hold his hand whenever he was least expecting it.  Again, he was not a fan.  But there was a day once.  In the midst of a particularly hard time in our lives that he saw me.  He looked past all of his teenager lenses and saw that I was suffering.  I remember the feeling of him taking my hand, looking me straight in the eye and saying nothing.  He knew. He knew what that gesture meant for me.  These are the moments that make motherhood the best calling of them all.