Mutha, Mutha, not your Mutha!

On a scale of one to ten I am a solid five or maybe a six when it comes to being a mother.  I get points for raising them to adulthood right?  Graduates? Not Juvenile delinquents? Gotta be points for all of that hard work.  I know I am not the mother who raised me or my mother in law either.  I could never be my mother or would I even try to be her.  Now this is based out respect and love because she in her own way has been a wonderful mother.   I, on the other hand, was not the best child and I am sure that she feels that she did her very best to mold me into her very best effort.  Different strokes, different folks right?  Isn't that the normal view of things?

Growing up in my home was idea in one aspect and difficult at the same time.   Looking back,  I understand now that my parents did their very best and had good intentions.   I have on the other hand took different in my approach as a parent.   I could never be my like mother for fear honestly of becoming my mother. I love my mother, please don't get me wrong.   She worked long days that started very early and then came home to work a few more hard hours. She would  finally sit down to watch TV and go to sleep immediately.  She held my brother and myself to extremely high standards and herself to even higher. We laughed after we left home that she vacuumed herself to bed. Sadly this is no joke.

We lived in a w subdivision that only had 16 houses and I was lucky enough to have one girl friend who was the same age.  She was the lucky one in my eyes, she had an older teenage sister who was the dream sister.  She was popular, pretty, a cheerleader, and a triple crown beauty queen.  She walked on water but most of all she treated me nice because of H.  Weekends at H's house was totally different from weekends at my house.  H went to all the football games and all the activities associated with her sister.  The age different was five years so we knew all about high school first hand.  H's mom slept in on Saturday morning and once she was up it was not the top to bottom house cleaning that started at my house at 7 am; no it was time to have some fun.  She would call her friend that she worked at the same office with and off we would go to the mall, movies , or to get someones "hair did".  H's mom would crank up the radio and we would sing all the way there and back.  H's mom was a cheerleader and a beauty queen too!  She would practice cheering with us and taught us all the dances that she knew.  We would shimmy, twist and do the Hustle until we could dance no more.  I literally snapped blisters on my fingers one Saturday night.  H's mom made life fun and she seemed to enjoy having us around.  This was quiet the contrast from my home.

In front of our new house!

 

Saturday morning started at daybreak, and we stripped our beds first thing and each room was cleaned from top to bottom thoroughly.  I would wait until Mom would either give me the pass signal or tell me to ''go lick my calf again" before I could move on to my next chore.  Around lunch time we would shower and head out to our local grocery store, mom had a routine and we stuck to it.  We would go to a little shop called The Sewing Basket, were I would spend time looking over the pattern books until I found something I liked and if mom approved then I would comb the shop's table filled with bolt after bolt of material until I found something I liked.  We would feel the material and mom would say rubbing the material between her fingers, "feel this it is so pretty and feels like heaven" , she would drape it over my shoulders and under my chin to see if it complimented my sun-bleached hair.  Then we pulled the findings (buttons, thread, zippers) necessary to complete the garment.  I loved picking out buttons.  We then headed to the high school to see if my Grandmother was at home.  She lived next door to the high school and that was the best thing ever after I started school.  We would visit with Grandmother and then off to the grocery store and then home.  That was an outing with my mother, she did not believe in going to the movies, or dancing, or Kasey Kasem's Top 40 even.

Check out our matching pink corduroy outfits.

Then after working 40+ hours a week at Buster Brown, the major employer of most women in our little small town, she would carefully spread out the beautiful fabric and work her magic.  She would make whatever I wanted and usually her a dress for church.   All the time she would be baking a cake or canning whatever fruit or vegetable that was in season in our huge back yard garden. 

She made the majority of my clothes right into my high school years. I always felt like I was slighted or missing out on something because my clothes were custom made to fit my skinny, lanky frame.  She added her special touch monogram, embroidery, and even fur accents to my wardrobe. I had a blue jean jacket that she helped me embroider  the entire back.  It was awesome.  

It was 1978 when I started 8th grade at our local high school and I was so excited to get my very first pair of Levi jeans.  I had jeans with matching vest,  corduroy pants with matching jackets, I had everything I liked in the TeenBeat and Seventeen magazines that I liked,  but I didn't have Levis.  The Levi 301's with the leather patch on the waistband, everyone was wearing them with deck shoes rolled up.  I finally got my own Levis and life was right.

Mom would come home from Buster Brown every afternoon at the same time.  She never went to visit a coworker or meet a friend for a drink, she came straight home...everyday for 30 years.  Her fingernails and her nose told us what color she was sewing that day.   She would set down her purse and coffee cup from the morning and turn on the water hose and water her flowers. She watered all around the house making a mental note of things that needed to be done. I believe that this was her way of unwinding, to regroup, recharge, her few minutes to herself.  In the house down the hall to her bedroom where she changed and immediately started second shift. She noticed everything that had not been done and I was responsible for so much even then.  During the summer, I was the caretaker for my little brother.  I am five years older so I a mature ten year took care of him while they worked.  I watched him and then when I turned 13 I babysat the neighborhood children.  I babysat seven children ages 16 months to 8 years old. Now if this was going on today, parents would be in jail.  I don't think I know of a 10 year old that I would leave one kid with little less SEVEN.  But that was 1979 and I was very mature back then....

Fun to my mother was a sense of accomplishment, she was happiest when she could look at her spotless house that smelled like Clorox and Pledge furniture polish or when she would see me in a dress that she made in choir on Sunday mornings. She was happy and she only wants approval. 

My parenting style could never live up to my mother's standards. I never appreciated the hard work my mother put into our childhood. I only saw the differences between my mother and H.  H worked outside the home as a secretary, she was always dressed up and would take us to the office when she had to work on Saturdays. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink and it was no big deal that the bed was not made, fun was a priority.

Sure we had fun at my house, it was a mandatory requirement to attend church on Sundays, morning and evening service, Wednesday night, basically if the doors opened, we were there. We were active in our youth group and participated in many fun activities.  My family never went on a load up the car leave the state vacation either, but H's family did a couple of times a year.  When her sister married, I filled in her place and went on vacation with them. It was so much fun.

Best Friends Queen and First Runner up

I guess I am a hybrid of the two women who raised me.  I count H because I spent as many hours with her family as she did mine.  I love a clean house, but I don't have a rigid cleaning schedule. I leave my son's room up to them, however, I have stepped and done a complete overhaul.  I don't sweat dirty dishes, I don't love them and I will overload the dishwasher just to keep from looking at them.  I have noticed as I am getting older that I keep a straighter house than I did in my early years, maybe this comes with age the boys are men and I am no longer "the mommy"... I expect nothing and I am rarely disappointed.   I get excited when I see them changing their sheets, sweeping and mopping. They seem to develop a longing for a cleaner room as they age too. 

The landscape is different as well, my boys have their own space with a bathroom and it is out of sight.  My room growing up was visible when you walked into the kitchen, our ranch house was compact.I don't stress over the house and it is truly livable. Yes, we have dirty dishes one or two and often the trash is a hiccup.  We live all over our house...no formal dining or living rooms plus three cats and four dogs who have no idea they are animals.  We live here and it has been the house where the kids congregate and that I love and enjoy.  

I don't put the pressure on my kids that I felt growing up.  My mother was heavy with the guilt and she was very concerned with appearances.  She drilled into my head that I was nothing special.  I was just like everyone else and I was to treat people as I would like to be treated.  A great rule, yes I agree. She is not an affectionate mother, she never hugged or kissed me really growing up.  I don't know if it was something that I shunned or just her.  My dad is truly the most important person in her life, then my brother, then her numerous brothers and sisters, in this hierarchy I am not sure where I fit.  I have never been exactly what she wanted as a daughter, I know that without a doubt.  It has been a struggle being my mother.  This is not exactly what anyone wants to carry around their whole life but it is mine to carry. 

I know my mother loves me and that is the most important part.