Bad mother! Good mother!

There was much hype preceding today’s solar eclipse.  I felt that, as a good mother, I should encourage my children to view the eclipse.  After all, it would be an educational experience for them.

I was talking to a friend yesterday who said I’d need to make a pinhole camera to see the eclipse.  He reckoned it could be done with a colander and that way you get to see multiple eclipses at the same time.

I knew we had a colander.  Tony took the handles off it and uses it as a steamer for the crayfish tails he and the kids catch.  It is down the backyard next to the brick stove where the crayfish get steamed.  Well, it’s supposed to be there. But I’ve also seen it used as a military helmet so it could be anywhere in the garden.  I get really cranky when I find cutlery, saucepans and other kitchen equipment in the garden.

Anyway, back to the potentially educational eclipse experience.

Tony woke me at 7.25 this morning and announced there had been heaps of people up at Greenhill (which towers above us, sort of, by TI standards) watching the eclipse.

I was gripped by guilt. I had forgotten all about waking up early to see the eclipse. Why hadn’t I pulled my finger out and done something to show the kids this unique and infrequent phenomenon?  After all, as a student of teaching, I know a good part of the new national science curriculum is devoted to earth sciences and inquiry skills. In fact, my last assignment had been based on a science investigation. I could have turned this into a science investigation for the kids, one that was educational and enjoyable.   

Oh, I was such a bad mother. 

Because it was early and I could hear the kids, and the extra one who stayed over, playing contentedly in the kitchen I stretched out and gave the matter some deep thought.  I thought of some reasons to justify my slackness.

I had actually been a good mother.

I remembered a solar eclipse from when I was quite young.  My dad, a scientist himself, had made what I recall as some sort of viewing device, but it was probably a pinhole camera. He dragged me and my brothers onto our back patio to view this truly amazing event.

Thank God for Google.  I reckon the date was 20^th June, 1974.  I was five and we lived in Perth.  Dad must have taken the day off work because it was a Thursday.  Also, it would have been a school day, but sometimes we were allowed to stay home from school when there were educational experiences to be had, like when Samantha the boxer dog had her first litter of puppies and we watched the squashed, slimy creatures enter the world.

When the eclipse was on that day, the sky was a clear blue and there was an eerie, streaky sort of light, as if it wasn’t solar but fluorescent. 

“Look, see the moon start to move in front of the sun,” said Dad, with endless enthusiasm. He was pointing at a piece of white paper laid out on the paved surface. “Catherine, what are you doing over there?  Come and look.” 

It wasn’t fair. My two little brothers were allowed to ride their plastic scooters around.

I reluctantly traipsed back from the rubber tree plant that I was pulling leaves from and watching the thick, white sap ooze out. 

Watching a shadow on a piece of paper did not hold my attention.  The plastic wheels of the boys’ scooters went crunch, crunch, crunch over the pavers. It made me mad that they got to play.  My attention wandered.  Why not just look straight up at the sun?

“Catherine.  Your father has told you not to look at the sun,” said Mum.

“This is boring,” I said.

“There is no such word as boring,” said Mum, but I’d heard my best friend, Carolyn say that word lots of times, so I wasn’t quite sure if Mum was telling the truth.

“Isn’t this incredible, Beverley?” said Dad.  “The moon is passing…”

And I heard bla, bla, bla.

“Darling, stop squinting,” said Mum.  “You’ll end up with wrinkles around your eyes.” 

I stared at the dark shape on the white paper and shifted on my feet. I picked at a nail, bit the nail and seethed that Stephen and Matthew got to play while I had to watch something that was so boring.  The plastic wheels kept going crunch, crunch, crunch.

I smiled at the memory.

On Wednesday, the fourteenth of November, 2012 at 7.30am I took another long stretch out on bed, and thought, I am so glad I slept in, I mean, glad I didn’t wake the kids at five o’clock on a school day.  They needed their sleep.

Then I got up and made a cup of tea.