The Perfectly Proper Mum

Father, we need to have a serious word with you! began Natalie, the daughterinlaw, as she stared cautiously at Pauls wife, Margaret, while addressing her fatherinlaw, Paul. Shed only been in the countryside for a few hours, having travelled from London to visit her husbands parents for the summer.

Excuse me, but I didnt pull your son out of the city for nothing, Natalie went on, voice edged with suspicion. I turned a mediocre city lad into a proper lad. And now you want to turn my son, little Peter, back into a rustic country bumpkin? I wont let that happen!

Whats the fuss, Natalie? Margaret asked, eyes widening. Why are you saying that?

Because our Peter, after spending the whole summer with you, isnt the same boy he was before! Natalie snapped. Do you understand?

We dont quite follow, Paul interjected, looking startled. What do you mean before? Hes only eight years old!

Exactlyjust eight! Natalie continued, her tone sharp. Yet after a season in your village hes turned into some sort of farmer! Hes picked up all kinds of bad habits.

Bad habits? Natalie, what on earth are you talking about? Paul asked, his brow furrowing. Has he started smoking?

Smoking? No, Father, thats not it! Natalie flared. Im talking about his new, very agricultural habits. He now calls cars mares! Imagine him seeing a shiny new vehicle and shouting down the lane, Mum, Dad, look at that mare that just drove past! What kind of word is that? Its horrendous!

Paul merely grunted in response, and Margaret shot him a disapproving glance.

Your choice of words, Paul Margaret said, guilttinged. Dont worry, dear. Mare isnt a swear word; its actually a gentle term, like a little horse, not a dreadful insult.

Natalies face flushed again. Do you really expect a city boy to speak like that? I wouldnt be surprised if hes started swearing as well. After a summer in the village his vocabulary has gone peculiar. It actually scares me! He now says things to his classmates like, Ill grab you by the crankshaft! or Youll get a share of the differential. What on earth does that even mean? My hair practically stands on end when I hear it. And just last week he wrote an essay saying he wants to be a tractor driver. Thats your doing, Father, isnt it?

Me? Paul tried to hide a smile behind a feigned look of innocence. No, Natalie, it wasnt me. Hes just been watching the farm equipment and letting his imagination run wild. Hes still a city boy at heart. He even told us he wants to be a financiermaybe even the Chancellor of the Exchequer one day.

Thats what we hope for him, Natalie sighed. But guess what hes done recently?

What? Margaret asked, tension rising again.

We gave him a pocketmoney allowance, thinking a budding financier should learn to manage his own cash for his birthday. We told him he could buy any gift he liked. Do you know what he bought?

What? Paul asked, ears perking up.

Some chainsaws, Natalie announced. Or at least something that looks like chainsaws. He said your chains are so dull they cant be sharpened, and that next year he and you will go into the woods to cut firewood for the sauna. Is that true?

Good grief, Margaret muttered. The lads imagination has really taken off.

Exactly, Paul added. So instead of a simple birthday present, hes decided to help me out. Dont worry, Natalie, well reimburse the cost of those chainsaws down to the last penny. Just tell us how much he spent.

This isnt about the money! Natalie shouted. Its not about firewood for a sauna, or mares and tractors. My boy should be thinking about his studies, not about timber or farm machines. He should aim to be a top scholar and head straight to university.

Youre right, dear, Margaret agreed, smiling. Next summer well fetch the smartest books from the village halls little library and spend the whole season under the apple tree with Peter, reading maths, English, everything. Well turn him into a straightA student.

Yes! Paul nodded. Just bring him over, and well make him the cleverest child in the county. Hell be able to outwit any of our local farmers, educationwise. He already crunches multiplication tables like theyre peanuts.

Not a word out of his mouth is clumsy, Margaret added, winking at her husband. He practically sings. All our village grandmothers are smitten with him. They say, Peters mother must be a proper mother.

What do you mean proper mother? Natalie asked, suspicious.

It means you bring him here for the summer, feeding him the freshest, most natural food, letting him breathe clean country air, swimming in the clear river instead of a chlorinated pool, and learning to bike without fearing a lorry turning the corner. Hes not afraid of bees, dogs, and his allergies have pretty much vanished. We hardly ever need to take him to the clinic now.

Give it a year and youll both forget the word almost, Paul chuckled. So, Natalie, dont worry that well ruin him. On the contrary, hell come away so healthy that hell have enough vigor for the rest of his life. After all, healthboth physical and moralis the most important thing for a child.

Fine then, Natalie finally relented, a small smile breaking through. Youve calmed me down a bit.

When Natalie left, Margaret turned to her husband, a hint of annoyance in her voice. Do you think theyll bring Peter back next summer?

Theyll have to, Paul answered uncertainly. Good thing Natalie didnt wander into the shed and see the tractor Im building for Petershed have lost her mind. But whatever. Everything will be fine. Hell still be saying mare now and then, just like I used to when my granddad would call every car a horse. Those old sayings stick, dont they?