Always On My Mind

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Mommyisms -- share yours

What is your earliest memory?
Mine is my third birthday, celebrated at our home in Mounds, Ill.
My grandmother (my mother's mother) and I were having a pretend tea party when suddenly I was picked up and put in my room. I didn't know it at the time, but my grandmother had suddenly died.

That's my earliest memory - not the best circumstances for a memory, but rather early just the same.

Then I have the memories of all the mommyisms.
You know...like the one I've shared in an earlier post, "You're going to do wonders and eat green cucumbers."
Or - "Put your sweater on. I'm cold!"

So, I've decided to devote this post to a few of those things my mother used to say to me -- things I'm sure your mothers have also said to you.

Mother hated to hear my younger sister and me whine and we weren't allowed to mope. Whatever the circumstances, we were expected to "dry it up." "Pick up your lip or some one's going to step on it." "Stop your crying, or I'll give you something to cry about!" she'd say. Naturally we didn't want that happening, because that would mean getting swatted with the dirty fly swatter. Yuck!

Mom also said, "You can get glad in the same pants you got mad in," and "The world doesn't owe you a living." So, I learned that the sooner I take responsibility for my actions, and figure out a plan for where I wanted to go, the better off I'd be.

Have you ever known anyone who jumped off a bridge? My nephew once did. He's one person who could answer, "Yes," to the age-old question, "If your friends jumped off the bridge, would you?"
Of course, when my mother would ask me that question, I wanted to ask "Who all is going? and What are they wearing?" But a level head prevailed, which kept me from actually being pushed off that bridge. As badly as I hated being left out of anything, many a time I did not participate in something because I knew she'd hear about it and I'd have to answer that question.

Mother also said, "There's no sense in crying over spilled milk." That's a lesson that, to this day, I still have not learned. I've just never been able to turn my emotions off and on like a water faucet -- though I sure wish I could.

As I look back and see how quickly the years passed, I think about all the lessons learned. My mother taught me that "into every life a little rain must fall, but if you have a good umbrella and a tube of red lipstick, you can get through anything." That's a life lesson that I hope I've passed on to my son (except for the red lipstick part).

Another memory I have is when I wanted to have my ears pierced. She said, "If God had wanted you to have holes in your ears, he would have put them there himself." Did I listen? No!
I got some ice, froze my earlobes one at a time and poked a dirty sewing needle and thread right through them. I was petrified when I couldn't get one of my ears to stop bleeding -- but that "don't cry over spilled milk" thing sure came in handy.

From my earliest memories, I knew that the same woman who tanned my hide with that dirty fly-swatter also had my back - always! She was proud of every one of my accomplishments; from learning how to play the flutophone in elementary school to becoming the editor of a social magazine and everything in-between. My proud mother would read excerpts from that weekly literary wonder to friends and family on the telephone. She kept copies in her bedside table, where they remain today.

I'll soon be 60 and in just 10 more days it will be a year since Mother passed away. The more things have changed, the more they have stayed the same. I love words, and my reason for writing hasn't varied - I need to tell the story. Unfortunately, without my mother's words of encouragement, I do feel stagnant at times.

My mother taught me by example just how important it is for my own son to know there is always someone there rooting for him, someone who loves him unconditionally.

Mom's been gone a year, and I still miss her so much. She was more than my mom, she was my best friend. We liked the same things: gardening, sewing, cooking and crafting. We shared everything, and I'm not sorry for one minute of it. Even though she's no longer here, the things we shared keep me going.

I love you, Mom, and miss you more and more everyday.

Friday, August 30, 2013

40 Years of Memories

Today begins our four-day celebration of our 40th wedding anniversary. Our son and his wife, as well as my younger sister, are coming to spend some of the weekend with us.
I can't believe 40-years has passed, doing so in the blink of an eye.

My parents made it to their 68th anniversary, with a party at the nursing home in which we had placed Daddy. He had Alzheimer's disease.( I hate that disease! I hate it!)
There are a lot of things Daddy didn't remember - like his home, his former friends from church who'd come to visit, how to read, how to work the remote control for his television, and many other simple things and processes we all take for granted on a daily basis - but as bad as it often was, and believe me - it was bad - whenever he'd see Mother walk in, his eyes would light up the room. He always knew her and knew she was his beautiful wife.

My husband and I have known each other since the fourth-grade when his family moved into the neighborhood that fed our elementary school. I was quite the goodie-two-shoes; never getting into any trouble at school. But one day, right after the teacher had just told all of us not to make a sound and just as we were about to take a spelling test, this little boy, with his too-big pants pulled way up over his waist tight with a skinny little belt that wrapped nearly twice around him, whispered something to me. And when I whispered back, I got caught!
I was "in trouble." Not him!
And remember when the teachers would brand you as a trouble-maker by writing your name in the upper left hand corner of the black board - for all the world to see that you were "bad?" That's what happened to me - my name went up on the black board!
I was devastated. But I was also angry with this kid.
By sixth-grade, though, we were friends, really close friends. So close, that we "went steady" during the last week of school, and played Spin-the-Bottle at a friend's party. I still have his I.D. bracelet that he gave me. I even wrote about him in my end-of-the-year autobiography, saying that my wish for my future was to be married to him.

We actually lost touch with each other in junior high and high school. By that, I mean that we didn't hang with the same crowd. We were always friendly with each other when passing in the hall, but our high school had nearly 5,000 students on three shifts, and we weren't on the same shift. He had his friends and I had mine.
Until college at Florida State University. When I sat down in my horrible, terrible, no-good, very bad geology class, there he was - a familiar face. The rest is - shall we say - history.

THEN

Picture taken in December of 1973, three months after we were married.

Neither my husband nor I were born with a silver spoon in our mouths.
But we often share this cute analogy of what we thought of each other's family.

My husband and his family are Jewish. In fact, we come from a predominately Jewish community in North Miami. Although my husband's mother was very fortunate enough to never have had to work a day in her life, his father was a hard working man, always hoping the next invention would be "the one" to take his family to new heights. In my little brain, I thought all Jews were wealthy. Period. All through school it just seemed to be that way, so I thought my husband's family was, as well.

Both of my parents worked at tough jobs nearly all their lives, and worked very hard for everything they had. Daddy loved to fish, so we had a boat while growing up in Miami. We lived on a slightly over-sized corner lot, and Dad built a large garage in the back for the boat and to use as his workshop. While I was in high school, Dad bought a pop-up camper, and when that turned out to be so much fun, he traded it in and bought a small RV. With all the adult toys parked at our house, my husband thought my family was wealthy.

Ha ha - we both got fooled.

Of course, all that being said - I wouldn't change a thing. While having a sweet inheritance would have been nice, it's not everything.

NOW

Picture taken in March 2013

My parents experienced pain, anger, temptation, disappointment, health issues and financial crisis, but their marriage was also filled with love - for each other and for their family.
So, too, have my husband and I. And as we face retirement in a few short years, my prayer is that we also fill our remaining years together with love and laughter - aiming for 65-years of our own.

Happy anniversary, honey. It's been quite the ride, but it ain't over, yet.