With their unique pen and their own sensitivity, artists present their vision of the world around us. This week, we are giving carte blanche to comedian Mariana Mazza.
I took a short vacation down south a while back. I went to join my friends who were going to celebrate the marriage of their parents. A beautiful moment. Soft. Unique. Touching. When I arrived at the all-inclusive, my nerves slackened, I immediately dozed off and felt like I was going to rest.
Looking around with my glass of mojito and my book ready to be devoured, I realized that I was probably going to be the only one relaxing.
Mothers who take their children to the South, it’s not a vacation, it’s double time work. It will be nice to tell me that the sun offers a form of relaxation, but when you have to cream, shout, warn, play, nap, eat… the sun takes over.
Hey mothers: you are machines.
I am speaking to all those who had to pack 45 suitcases for 7 days. Who had to think about medicine, wipes, toys, clothes, a change of clothes, snacks, creams and all the other needs a child will have to make it out of this relaxing trip alive.
I am addressing all those who have had to take out the famous Goldfish with cheese to avoid the crisis because putting on sunscreen, a hat, floaties, sandals, glasses, it can be enough for a show of decibels very treble come blow your eardrums.
I congratulate all those who have a new activity in mind every 15 minutes because the activity before is no longer effective enough to have any respite. Not that you don’t love your children, but ciborium, you don’t stop for a second.
To those who finally doze off during nap time, around 1 p.m., under the palm tree and who wake up with a start because their child is on top of them, eyes wide open, smiling, because he doesn’t don’t want to take a siesta.
I was giddy watching you deal with the heat, the cream in your eyes, the surprise pee, the bacon crisis because five scoops on a cone is what he wants. NOW. “I WILL EAT IT ALL, PROMISE! »
I admire you for never raising your voice, even when I see her, your vein of impatience pumping in your forehead. You stay in control, but in your head, it’s the duckling syndrome that wades quickly underwater and stays in control on the surface.
It’s easy for me to judge your children who listen to you half the time. I would have liked, several times, to raise your voice and tell them: “SHE TOLD YOU NOT TO RUN. WHAT’S SO HARD TO UNDERSTAND, CHALICE? »
Certainly, I imagine that you develop your techniques (fallible, it must be said) over time, like everyone else. And it becomes easy. You develop stuff. You love them. It’s not always rock’n’roll likewise. But I am dizzy when I watch you repeat 4,920,484 times the same thing that seems so easy to understand.
I admire you for being able to be at your wit’s end and, a second later, start dancing with your child to Latin music, as if nothing had happened.
Because that’s what touches me when I try to read and I can’t because you’re even more fascinating to watch than my book. You constantly manage. (Fathers too. But I’m talking about mothers here. Sorry.)
What touches me the most is in the evening, during the show at the end of the day. When your children are sitting on your lap, with their five-ball cone and, finally, you settle down. You take the time to watch the show. Your children are calm, happy and grateful (not all of them, but I’m sure they are for real, inside).
I see your mother’s smile on your beautiful faces reddened by the sun and your eyes which are closing little by little, just long enough to rest for two minutes. You do me good. Sometimes you make me want to try this. Even if everything is difficult, long, painful sometimes, I’m sure that deep down, it doesn’t bother you. You come home after seven days and you say to yourself, “I can’t wait to go back. »
I raise my glass of mojito to you, mothers. You are strong.
NB: I know that your children pee in the water. It doesn’t matter. Me too.