My Turn

            They’re the two little magic words my two older daughters use all the time to get my attention, whether it’s an impromptu dance performance or a re-cap of something hilarious that happened at school.  But I’ve never heard Lilly, my youngest, say them until now.  We’re eating dinner together, and there’s a delightful cacophony of half-shouted, half-giggled anecdotes and jokes.  Not one to be left out, Lilly puts her hand on my arm and says it: “Mommy, Mommy!  My turn.”
            I look at her and blink in surprise.  “Okay, quiet, everybody,” I say, raising my hand for silence.  “Lilly has the floor.”
            I don’t quite understand all of what Lilly says – none of us do.  Some of it’s just talking as fast as she can.  But as she rattles on for the next few minutes, I watch as, for the first time, a certain light comes on inside her, like when a prima ballerina takes center stage.  It’s a performance for everyone at the table, but most of all, it’s a performance for me.  She keeps looking to make sure I’m watching.  
And I smile because I know exactly how she feels.
            When I was growing up, I loved having my mother’s undivided attention.  Whether it was short moments of cuddles and stories and songs, or longer moments of talking over a lunch out – even just shopping without my sisters – the smiles and words she shared with only me made me feel like I was playing a crucial part in the life of the woman who kept my world spinning. 
            It’s funny how some things never change. 
            “Remember Kasem’s?” Mom asked me recently.  It was a grocery store in Chiang Mai, where we lived when I was in my early teens, and Mom and I used to walk miles out of our way every Saturday because they had the most heavenly little bakery.   “Do you know, I found it when your dad and I were there last summer?” 
            “No!” I said.  “It’s still there?  I always wondered about that.  Gosh, they had the best cream puffs!”
            “They did!” she agreed, laughing, and I felt ridiculously happy about the fact that this was one of those things only Mom and I shared.  But that’s what “my turn” moments are about – sharing something with Mom that’s just for the two of us.
Last fall, while my mom visiting for a few weeks, I became ill with a severe infection.  I remember the happy surprise I felt when I looked up from my hospital bed and saw Mom walking in.
            “Matt didn’t want to come?” I asked.
            “Oh,” she answered, “he just thought it would be better if he stayed home with the kids.  Everyone’s kind of been through a lot.  Besides,” her soft brown eyes became a little watery here, “I just needed to take care of you.  I don’t get to do that a lot.”  Suddenly, I felt so special, like the star player had decided to come and play on my team.
            As much as I still love Mom’s attention, what she said that day in the hospital made me realize that giving “My turn” moments to my daughters is a special treat.  I remember holding each of my newborns and thinking I didn’t want them to love anyone as much as they loved me.  It was an unabashedly selfish thought, and now as they vie for my attention, I tend to feel pulled a thousand different directions.  I catch myself wishing for a few extra clones of me – or, if I must have just one body, then six eyes and ears, and a dozen or so arms.  But then again I know there will be a day when they aren’t as close as they are right now, maybe even thousands of miles apart like my mother and I. 
So it’s my turn.  It’s my turn to listen and watch closely, my turn to empathize as only a mother can.  It’s my turn to get angry at the injustices facing my children, and to fight the battles that they are too young to wage alone.  It’s my turn to cry when I see them hurting and to lose sleep at night worrying about them.  It’s my turn to laugh at the silly jokes they make up.  It’s my turn to cheer – whether at a dance recital or a backyard circus or a race they are running – and hang their artwork proudly on my refrigerator. 
Because these days, whether my kids know it or not, “My turn” moments keep my world spinning.