I wish I had the composure to say “May-flies” instead of “You’re annoying”

Like those buzzing insects that appear around May,
we sisters would fuss and swarm around her.

“Ah, May-flies, May-flies.”

My mother would say that, waving her hands as if brushing them away from her face, gently and laughingly shooing us away as we swarmed around her.

Memories of “May-flies” come back to life

Recently, the word “Annoying!” has been slipping out of my mouth.

I don’t really want to say it, and it makes the person being told feel bad, too.

I know that in my head, but I just can’t seem to help it, and it comes out like a reflex.

In the midst of such days, that phrase of my mother’s from nearly 30 years ago suddenly came back to me.

I have an older brother and a younger sister.
With three children, every day was certainly lively.

My sister and I, full of the desire to talk and be noticed,
must have been swarming around our mother as she sat in a kitchen chair, making all sorts of noise.

Every time, my mother would say, “Ah, May-flies, May-flies.”

With a look that was slightly troubled, yet somehow amused, she would laugh it off.

My mother, my sisters, and our “May-fly” days

Fighting every day, kicking up dust while playing on the futons, and running all over the house.
I had forgotten, but my childhood home was, in any case, noisy.

My impression of my mother is that she was “always busy with housework and angry.”

“Clean that up!”
“Give me a hand!”
“Don’t sleep in a place like this!”

I have memories of being told things like that constantly.

However, for some reason, the memories associated with the word “May-flies” feel somewhat gentle.

My mother’s expression at that time was definitely smiling.

My mother, who would laughingly brush us off with “May-flies” instead of “Annoying!”

Now, I realize that those words must have been filled with humor and affection.

My son and I, truly like “May-flies”

Right now, I am struggling to handle just my one son.

“Look!”
“Come here!”
“Get me the remote!”
“String cheese and Imagawayaki!”

His arrogance makes me want to ask which country's king he thinks he is, and my frustration has reached its limit.

And before I know it, it slips out of my mouth.
“Shut up!”

I am surely hurting my son.
I know I shouldn't say it.
Even so, I can't hold it back, and I am driven by self-reproach.

A slightly older mom once said this to me:
“When I think that this kind of chaos will only last for about two more years, I feel a bit sad.”

I envy the composure that allows her to feel that way, and I even respect her for it.
Judging by how my son is now, I can't imagine such a quiet daily life will ever arrive...

But surely, it will come someday.
And it will arrive much sooner than I think.

Revisiting the “temperature” of words

Even though we can go to school happily in the morning,
and we can stay fairly calm at the park,

once we get home, a wave of exhaustion hits me.

That exhaustion spills out of my mouth in the form of the word “shut up.”

Truth be told, I would rather be laughing than getting angry.
That would surely make things easier for me, too.

And then, I remember my mother's word, “gogatsubae” (May-flies).
I want to spend my time using calmer, more composed phrasing.

At the very least, for tomorrow,
I will raise my boiling point for anger by just one degree...

I recently learned about this campaign by Chiaki Kanda.
I thought it was a wonderful project, so I am participating for the first time 🕊️