Moominmamma and me

This picture, by Tove Jansson, who was the author and illustrator of the Moomin books, is actually nothing at all to do with Moominland. It's one of her illustrations for The Hobbit, but I think it's rather wonderful, and better than a picture of the Moomins themselves, which is my excuse for sticking it in here.

I never read any Moomin books when I was a child. I came upon them only recently and was knocked sideways by the strangeness and loneliness and utter charm of them.

I hope, one day, to write in depth about why I like Jansson's writing and her art but, to be honest, I haven't read enough yet to do her justice. So this is a post about one character's conversation with another and what I think about it in relation to my own role in as Paddymamma.

The following comes from Moominsummer Madness:

[Moomintroll and Moominmamma] sat side by side in the moss and watched the schooner [she had made] sail across the pond and land at the other shore beside a large leaf.

Over at the house the Mymble's daughter was shouting for her little sister. 'My! My!' she yelled. 'Horrible little menace! My-y-y! Come here at once so I can pull your hair!'

'She's hid somewhere again,' said Moomintroll. 'Remember that time we found her in your bag?'

Moominmamma nodded. She was dipping her snout in the water and looking at the bottom.

'There's a nice gleam down there,' she said.

'It's your golden bracelet,' said Moomintroll. 'And the Snork Maiden's necklace. Good idea, isn't it?'

'Splendid,' said his mother. 'We'll always keep our bangles in brown pond water in the future. They're so much more beautiful that way.'

This passage struck me when I read it and has stayed with me long after the rest of the story faded.

Firstly, it reminded me (I suppose tangentially but one's own tangents never seem tangential but perfectly logical and straightforward) of Beowulf's mere and all the gold and armour gleaming bleakly at the bottom of it.

Secondly, I had a wince of shame that my reaction, if my son dropped all my most precious belongings into a puddle, would not resemble hers. At all. I would get very red and hot and prickly, shout a lot, then sulk and probably bring it up for years and years in martyred tones. "This is why I can't have nice things..."

Poor boy.

I know Jansson isn't proposing that to be a good mother you must believe every stupid, selfish or thoughtless thing your child does is genius. But it did make me realise how little a partner-in-joy I am with my son. If he thought something was truly marvellous, would I try to see it from his point of view, or immediately impose my own agenda?

Definitely the latter.

Time to empty my jewellery-box. Sigh.