Mothers Guilt

Young mothers wear me out trying too hard.  I'm just exhausted watching them as they strive to reach some goal of perfection in motherhood.  They are busy making cake-pops, photo cards, hand-made decorations, and perfectly presented children.  They are scouring the shelves in the grocery for the latest dates on the canned goods, the freshest dairy products, and just laid eggs.  They are searching for the best performing brand of diapers, the most brain stimulating toys,  and clothes that are environmentally friendly.  They seem compelled by some massive competition to prove they are the best mothers by their compulsive selectivity on any item. 

It's a long way from the way we were raised and we all managed to survive.  In fact our generation even managed to produce some intelligent, articulate, productive people.  And, boy, were we ever raised by parents who thought of child-rearing differently!

Yes, most of our mothers stayed at home (I was one of the few kids I knew raised by a two parents who both worked).  It wasn't necessarily by choice, women weren't given the opportunities for jobs, education and equal pay.  On the other hand, we didn't have as many "things" as our kids do. 

Our mothers also had a different attitude about mothering, too.  I don't think my mother ever worried about the date on a milk jug--if it smelled bad and tasted awful, you used it in cornbread not kids.  They never worried if the food had the right antioxidants for our little bodies, they just worried that there would be plenty on the table.  We weren't asked what we wanted either, you just ate whatever was in front of you.  My sister did manage to get away with being a picky eater, but it just meant that if we had peas she had none.  No one fixed special for her. 

We wore lovingly hand-made clothes, not because it was politically correct but because it was cheap.  Often they were crafted from garments handed down from older siblings or recut from adult clothing.  We had beautiful, natural Christmas decorations because we could go out and collect pine, cedar, holly, pine cones, and other evergreens from yards and fields at no cost.  (One of my fondest Christmas memories is shooting mistletoe out of trees). 

Our parents worried a lot more about our manners than the brand of our clothes. 

They didn't worry about spending quality time with us.  They worked hard, often long hours, and often the only time I would spend with my dad was to snuggle up before bedtime when he would read the funnies to me.  They never planned days when we could do nothing but play together.  Instead they planned ways that we could be with them while they did other chores--we chatted while pulling weeds, shared stories while folding laundry, learned to cook while helping in the kitchen.  They weren't chores--they were our quality time. 

I think the biggest difference that hits me is that for so many young parents their children are running their world.  They worry incessantly about whether their children are receiving the right stimulus,  seeing the right friends, participating in the correct activities,, eating the best foods, playing with the best toys, wearing the best diapers, attending the best pre-school, Their whole world is focused on their children.  If they aren't doing for or with their children they feel guilty. 

My worry is that in the effort to be the "perfect" parents they are forgetting something that our parents knew well.  First they were a couple, then they were parents.  Our parents never let us forget that we weren't the authors of the world....they were.  My dad got the best piece of chicken, my mom picked the tv programs.  Kids weren't given first choice or decision.  It was that way in everything.  Their word was law.  We might grumble but rarely did we rebel. 

I might have felt mistreated, but I never felt unloved. 

You see, our parents knew an important fact.   Love isn't shown by things or even specific actions...it just is.  And there never was a child or person, when surrounded by love, that didn't know it.

Merry Christmas to You, Too, Mr. Trooper

Tuesday was one of those days when you wish you had just pulled the covers over your head and stayed in bed.

This Christmas I am running late with everything and wrapping my presents is no exception.  In the middle of wrapping the gifts for the grand kids over the week-end, I made the horrifying discovery that a gift I was sure I had purchased wasn't there.  I don't know if it was a brain fart on my part or if the package was left at the check out, but I didn't have a gift for the younger of the Iowa granddaughters.  Naturally, the item couldn't be found locally but only in a mega chain in Lexington or Louisville, both over an hour away. Monday I was tied up all day in a meeting, so on Tuesday, I checked the stores on line and discovered it was sold out in Lexington but still available in Lousiville.  With that I jumped into my clothes and tore out for the city.

Upon arriving, I discovered that they could not find my "hold for me" order I was sure I had successfully sent that morning.  The very patient manager led me to the shelf where the similar themed toys should be.  Wasn't there.  He looked at me helplessly, "Now, what exactly is it you are looking for."  An endless time of web-waiting and I had a picture and description for him.  He retired to the back to see if they still had it.  He returned with a grim expression on his face.  The computer showed that there were indeed four of the toys in the huge store....somewhere.  Obviously, they had been picked up and put down when shoppers changed their minds.  I was welcome to look....but....  It didn't take me long to decide that I could find a substitute gift or I could spend the day inventorying the store for the misplaced toys. 

During all this time the manager was fielding call after call on his walky-talky, to each one he replied patiently, I'm helping a customer.  I'll get right back to you.  He was calm and helpful, even in the face of my increasing frustration.  Like he had no stress in his life!  Feeling a little ashamed, I gave him a heartfelt thanks for his kindness and help.

Clutching my substitute gift (which my daughter will hate but my granddaughter will love!) I climbed back in my car for the drive home.  Traffic was heavy but I finally was out of the city and making my way across rural roads to home.  Feeling stressed and put upon by the basically fruitless trip (I could have gotten the substitute gift closer to home) I hurried to get back to the chores piling up at the house. 

I was leaving a stretch of four lane road and entering a section of rural two lane, cruising along, muttering to myself about my miserable day when I hit a little downhill section with more speed that I should have.  As I neared the end of the hill I looked up to see a car with Christmas lights on top coming toward me.  As I glanced down in horror I saw that I was doing 70 in a 55 mph zone.  No getting out of that.  I was really and truly caught.  As we passed, the trooper flipped his lights on and they began a cheerful red and blue flashing.  With a sinking feeling, I began braking and looking for a place to pull over safely, knowing that this was really going to make my day a lot worse.  The replacement toy was looking to be the most expensive Christmas gift I gave this Christmas.  I glanced back in my mirror to check on the trooper behind me and was just in time to see him flip off his lights and give me a cheery wave as he continued on down the road.  He had gotten his message across and I was slowing down.

With a sigh of relief I continued on down the road, grateful for his gift, and much slower.

Thank you Mr. Trooper for the Christmas Gift.  I really appreciate it.  That's one expense that would have been a little hard to explain to my insurance agent hubby.

Let the Little Ones Come to Me

Thursday morning found me sitting in a room full of grandparents and parents waiting for the annual Christmas program at the elementary school.  With a grandson in pre-school and one in first grade, I had arrived early to be sure of a good seat with a clear view (so did everyone else!), so we spent the time chatting about our little darlings and catching up on news. 

I sat there with a huge, silly grin on my face as the little ones filed in to sing.  The grandsons sang with tremendous seriousness, trying hard to remember every word and gesture.  Their eyes searched the sea of faces until they spotted the familiar grins in our row, then standing a bit taller they gave a little grin back.  I don't know who was prouder- me or them, but we both thought they were doing a pretty spectacular job.

This little scene was repeated around the room as parents and grandparents filled the air with the intensity of their pride and love.  The kids sang their hearts out with the joyful, innocent enthusiasm that only the very young possess.  As the music floated through the room, more than one eye was damp.

Then on Friday, I sat stunned, with a nation, while we watched in horror the unfolding story of death and sadness.  The unbelievable had happened.  Our most precious things, our children, had been attacked.  I thought of all the innocent faces of the children I had watched the day before and the pride and love of their families.  Then I thought of those parents who would not hold their precious little ones again and I cried with the nation. 

Murder is always hideous, but the taking of children who live so intensely in the moment and bring such joy to those around them , is somehow so much more heinous.  They are too young to understand hate, envy, political views, distrust, revenge, or rage but only live to be happy.

We can only begin to imagine the pain and agony that these people will endure as they try to deal with their loss.  We can't help them.  We can only mourn with them in our own small way.  We'll hug our little ones and deep down inside we will be glad that we aren't the ones suffering. 

And we'll weep.

The Flow Blue China

Several years ago, hubby and I were browsing through an antique show when he spotted a display featuring some china.  Wandering over he pointed to one of the plates and recalled that his mother had some dishes like that.  The plate had a white background with a deep, cobalt blue design that looked like it had bled into the plate.  The whole effect was a muted but bold design that was very pleasing.

He went on to relate that the dishes had belonged to his grandmother, who had left them to his mother.  They were her prized possessions and he swore they only got to eat on them when the visiting preacher came for dinner.  The rest of the time they were stored safely away from her three rambunctious boys. 

The next visit to my mother-in-law I asked to see her china.  With delight she showed them to me, explaining that they were called "flow blue" in reference to the bleeding of the deep blue color.  Her mother, the daughter of Swiss immigrants, had married another young Swiss and set up housekeeping.  Times were hard and they were struggling to make ends meet on their hilly farm.  With hard work and a large garden she managed to see that they had plenty, but she yearned for a few of the finer things.

She did her best with hand crocheted doilies and tablecloths, but she really wanted some nice dishes for company.  All the dishes she looked at just cost too much to even consider.  Then she discovered that you could get pretty china in laundry detergent.  For years she bought the detergent and collected the pretty blue dishes.  Finally, she had enough for her family and company.  She treasured her lovely dishes and like her daughter, only brought them out on very special occasions. 

Neither woman treasured the dishes because they could brag of a  famous brand name or because they cost a huge amount.  They treasured them for the touch of grace they added to their homes and the memories that they associated with them.  With love they served their family and friends on the best they could provide. 

When my mother-in-law died we found a little notebook that she had kept.  In it she had written down items that she wanted to go to specific members of the family.  Mostly they were items that held special meaning to her and she thought would be special to that person.  With tears in my eyes, I saw that she had wanted me to have her treasured flow blue china. 

Now it is displayed proudly, safely away from my rambunctious grandsons, but still a treasured memory of two gracious ladies.  Neither of these women probably ever realized that their soap box dishes have now become one of the prized collectibles of our generation.  However, in spite of the china's greatly increased worth, it is the memories of these two women and their struggle to provide a touch of grace for their families, that is it's true value.

The Christmas Gift

Few children ever realize the love, effort and sacrifices that parents put into making their lives full, fun and rewarding.

Our kids were fortunate to spend their early years supervised by a neighborhood of caring and watchful adults.  Since the houses were close together, the streets fairly quiet, and the parents all known to each other, the kids all banded together and ran in a pack, like puppies.  Like puppies they tumbled, ran, wrestled, and played first in one back yard and then another.  As parents you came to know the kids and the parenting skills of the other parents.  We started our family a little later than most of the others.  The mothers of these neighborhood children became a great source of information, encouragement and wisdom as I struggled to figure out the whole parenthood thing.

We were all young, just getting our lives started.  We had lots of fun but not much money.  This was particularly stressful at Christmas when our wants for our children often outpaced our pocketbooks.  We had enough for our needs but the extras of the holidays often took some creative planning. 

One of the mothers, who had been a true mentor for me, wanted to give her children something special that they would remember for years.  More than just a toy that would be worn out and forgotten in a short period, but a memory that they could take out and enjoy for years to come.  She thought and thought and decided that one of the most magical things to her was the magic of a live stage production.  Add Christmas to the equation and you have a stage production of  "A Christmas Carol". 

With a little looking she discovered an excellent production in a nearby city that had received wonderful reviews.  She determined that her children would be able to experience this.  The tickets were pricey but with a little creative budgeting she could squeeze out tickets for her 7, 10 and 13 year old children to attend.  The day in December arrived and dressed in their best clothes the children tumbled into the car for the one and a half hour drive to the theatre.  Upon arriving, the mom hustled them into the door and presented them each with a ticket.  She then gave them detailed instructions on how to find their seats and what to do after the show to find her. 

You see, she could manage the tickets for the children, but the budget wouldn't allow for her to have a ticket too.  So she had planned on sitting in the car outside and waiting for them until after the show was over.  The children nodded solemnly and went to find their seats.  An usher standing nearby overheard the whole thing.  He approached the young mother and told her that if she would wait until the show had started he would see if there would be a seat that she could use to watch the show.  Soon he was back and escorted her to the section where her children were seated, engrossed in the show. 

She recalled later that she never saw a bit of the show.  She spent the whole time watching the delight and fascination on her children's faces as they experienced the magic of the performance.

The children are grown now with families of their own, but they have never forgotten the wonderful present their mother gave them all those years ago.  This year, to tell her how much it meant to them, they all reunited, with grandchildren, to take their mother to see "A Christmas Carol" at the same theater.  This time she probably didn't watch it again....maybe because of tears in her eyes.

A Horror Story

Most young people today won't notice that this is a special day.  Most in fact tend to view World War II as something they only know about because of history classes in school.  To them it isn't real.  In fact, to my generation it's only stories that our parents talked about (or not).  For some of us it is still a time to remember the horror of war and the many who died during that time.

My mother worked for the local electric company when I was young.  She and my dad became close friends with the lineman and his wife.  He was a kind, gentle man who always took the time to talk to a little girl.  Once, in December, when I was questioning the meaning of "Pearl Harbor Day" she told me his amazing story of Pearl Harbor.

The United States wasn't in the war but fighting was going on and tension was building up world wide.  Young Lewis decided to join the navy and see the world and perhaps be ready if his country needed him.  He wound up stationed in paradise, along with thousands of other sailors, in beautiful Hawaii.  They spent days enjoying the sunshine and showers, crystal blue waters, swaying palm trees, and colorful flowers.  In between enjoying the sunshine and beauty they went about their jobs of training and caring for their ships. 

December 7 dawned as another beautiful day.  Since it was Sunday Lewis and several of his buddies had been given shore leave to go to town.  They left early to enjoy a peaceful day in paradise.  That paradise was destroyed when the Japanese launched a surprise attack on the fleet anchored in the harbor.  Wave after wave of bombers flew over leaving destruction, devastation, and death behind.  Air fields, ships, houses, and buildings were on fire, wounded were being transported to hospitals by cars, carts and jeeps, air raid sirens blasted, men shouted and ran for their stations.  The chaos was indescribable. 

Lewis and his young friends were caught on shore during the beginning of the attack.  They immediately attempted to return to their ship.  No easy feat, with bombs exploding around them, transportation at a standstill, and their help needed in dozens of places.  When he finally reached the harbor he found to his horror that his ship was one of the ones that took a direct hit and been destroyed.  Unsure of what to do next he simply reported to the first group he found that needed his help and went to work.  For three days he did whatever was needed--whether it was initially attempting to fire back at the flying bombers or later in the struggle to restore order to the destroyed military. 

One of the more gruesome jobs he did was to attempt to locate bodies and identify them to be sent home to families.  This wasn't always as easy job since some bodies were blown to bits by the explosions.  His description has always stayed in my mind with a feeling of horror as he explained that, "we gathered up two arms, two legs, and a torso, and a dog tag and put them in a tarp.  Then we sewed it together and sent them to the morgue set up inland."  Literally thousands and thousdands of families suffered the pain of the loss of a son, husband, daughter (yes there were women serving as nurses), or relative.  Telegrams were sent night and day notifying the families of their loved ones deaths.

Little did Lewis know that his own family received one of these telegrams.  His ship went down with all the records on board and since in the chaos that followed his name had not shown up on any other ship, he was presumed to have been lost with his crew mates at the bottom of Pearl Harbor.  It was several days before Lewis finally was attached to another ship and his name began to circulate through the system.  In the meantime, his family mourned his loss, held a memorial service and placed his name on the memorial plaque in their little church.  I shudder to think of the heartbreak and pain that they endured.  It was probably equal to the joy and ecstasy they felt when the telegram arrived telling them that their son was still alive.  How does the heart endure such stress and joy?

It was due to events such as these that military personnel were to be classified as Missing in Action, presumed dead, until proof could be obtained. 

Wars are awful.  Period.  However, I am proud to know many such men and women who have served in the armed forces to protect our country and our way of life.  Thank you for your dedication and courage. 

May we never forget the sacrifices made for us.

Cheap Plastic Ornaments

I love decorating the house for Christmas.  I hate dragging the decorations out of the tiny attic,  I dislike the mess it creates in the house, I am frustrated by the time it takes out of a busy schedule, but I love the actual decorating. 

The oldest grandson was my helper when it came time to decorate the tree.  The little boys had opted to play outside in the balmy, 70 degree weather.  As we placed the ornaments on the tree the conversation centered on the unusual selection of ornaments I had.  I laughed and agreed that my tree certainly wasn't a "theme" tree with color coordinated and stylish ornaments, rather it was a "memory tree".  Each and every ornament has it's own story.  There is the little glittered block that his dad had made in kindergarten, a clothespin Rudolph from third grade, a crude, green frame with a snaggle-toothed picture of my daughter, aged 7,  and a little stocking with my grandson's name on it that he had made.  There are ornaments given by friends, some who are far away, and ornaments I have made.  Many of our vacations are represented by ornaments I have collected while traveling.  There are ornaments representing family milestones, such as graduations and births, family pets, first cars and hobbies.

As we continued placing ornaments I told him the stories of each of the little decorations.  Then he reached in the box and pulled out a yellow, plastic lantern with a little poinsettia inside.  Obviously cheaply mass produced, he was confused as to why it was nestled carefully in a bed of tissue paper along side a glittered bell with most of the glitter gone.  "Do you want to use these?" he doubtfully asked.  I smiled and said, "Yes indeed!  These go in the best spot on the tree." 

"You see, when we were first married we had very little money.  We were both in school and just paying tuition, rent and utilities took about everything we had.  Our Christmas tree was a cedar cut from the farm where hubby was working part-time.  It smelled wonderful but was painfully prickly.  We went to a local store and bought the cheapest ornaments we could find and some cheap tinsel.  It didn't look too wonderful but the colored lights were cheerful and the little ornaments sparkled in the glow.  We thought it was beautiful."

"We didn't have much but I made cookies and we invited our friends over.  We listened to Christmas carols and enjoyed the season with lots of fellowship.  We didn't give lavish gifts--I made homemade goodies to take to friends.  I don't remember what we gave to each other, but I do remember that it was a wonderful time of love and thankfulness. "

"Now each year these treasured little plastic ornaments come out to be placed lovingly on our tree to remind us of where we started from.  To remember old friends, simpler times, family members that aren't with us any longer,  and a time when we had little but were thankful for much. "

During this season that has become so lavish and filled with activities, festivities, gifts, and abundance, I find my eye drawn to the little, cheap ornaments and remember what is really important in life.  Love, family and friends.

I turned to my grandson.  "To me these are the most beautiful ornaments on the tree. "

He still looked puzzled and more than a bit skeptical.  Someday he will look back on times in his life that hold special meaning and he will remember my ornaments and understand.

Until then at least he tolerates his crazy grandmother.