Judging Mothers

I don’t think I’d been in the craft store for more than five minutes when I heard lamenting of Biblical proportions coming from the opposite end of the store.

It was a classic four year old melt-down. Five minutes later, it had not subsided. After 15 minutes, the mega-tantrum was still in full bloom, and I decided to mosey over and nonchalantly check things out, making sure the kid wasn't broken or being beaten or anything. Maybe I could encourage the poor mom with a smile. I don’t know…something.

The scene I stumbled upon was one I had seen before. One I have experienced before, I might add. Many times. Permit me to describe it to you in detail:


This thirty-something mother was trying to shop with her three children, two young sons and a daughter. Mother had a list which she was pretending to be looking over, but I suspected that she was just maintaining a calm exterior as she melted inside. She pushed the cart slowly as her youngest child, a beautiful dark haired little girl, sobbed bitterly, her fragile heart obviously shattered into tiny pieces like cheap glass on a tile floor. Deep, salty rivers streaked down her red cheeks from her eyes and from her nose. "Please, Mommy," she begged. "I want it! I need it. Please buy me that doll. I NEED HER! Waaaaa!" (Sob, sob, and so on and so forth.)

The stoic mother remained visually calm as she robotically repeated the words, “No. You don’t need another toy.” Meanwhile, her daughter continued to fling herself from side to side in the cart, lunging at the doll which was by now at least two isles away.

The two older brothers, wise in their youth, walked bravely and silently on either side of the cart. The whole event had the dirge-like feel of a New Orleans funeral, with piped in oldies playing in the background, instead of a home-grown blues band. It was somewhat poignant for me, believe it or not; I thought of my own children and how they had mourned over toys not bought.

At this juncture, I must add this “aside” about dolls and me. If you know me, you know without my saying that I wanted to buy this kid the doll. There’s nothing quite like a little girl and her baby doll. Little girls learn how to be mommies by playing with dolls. Besides, I’m a seasoned mother and grandmother, well able to be manipulated by tiny broken hearts and sobbing four year olds girls.

After all, I almost died for my brand new Tiny Tears when I was only three years old. (I hope I haven’t already told you this before!) She fell from my arms, and I dove into Little Lake Joe after her. My dad had to save me from drowning. I remember him pulling off his shirt as he ran into the water towards me. He carried me ashore, breathless and blue. Lifeless, they thought. But not giving up, an old man in the gathering crowd held me upside down until the water drained from my little lungs. Then I wanted my doll, so Daddy swam out to the middle of the lake to rescue Tiny Tears as well. My life was complete.

Back to the story at hand:

Once I saw that everything was normal and determined that the mother was not only not abusing her child, but was a living saint, I decided I must depart. I got in line and waited.

Soon I heard this twangy voice behind me saying, “Well!” (…deep breath in through the nose…) “That’s just bad parenting!”

I stood there in silence for a moment, pondering what to do. I could either say something to defend the saint-mama or be quiet. Again, if you know me, you know I couldn’t just stand there and let that lady criticize Saint-Mama. I turned only slightly towards the voice behind me. Out of my peripheral vision, I could see two thin, red painted lips tightly pursed in parental condemnation.

“You know, I don’t think it’s bad parenting,” I said slowly. “She’s doing the best she can. Kids have different personalities, and some are…”

“It’s bad parenting,” she interrupted.

“Well,” I said, persisting. (It was already time to pull the 8 Kids Card on her. I’m never above pulling the 8 Kids Card when necessary…it’s the undeniable privilege of having a big family…)“Well, I raised 8 kids, and I can tell you that some of my kids were well-b…”

“Well, I have raised TWO kids and they NEVER acted like that,” she said, her shrill voice raising at least two decibels. “If they had, we’d have gone right home. Then and there!”

I turned around and looked fully at her. Those little red lips were flexing now, ready for action. The Two Compliant Teenagers stood beside her, life-sized tin soldiers behaving perfectly, evidence of Sixteen Years or so of Obvious Superior Parenting.

My face was reddening. My blood pressure rising. I had two choices. One, I could say what I was thinking, which is seldom a good thing. I don’t like public confrontation, even when I am right. “People with two compliant kids are always experts on how everybody else should raise their kids,” I was thinking I should say. (My husband remembers it as “You had the luck of the draw, lady.” Because the rest of the afternoon I had told him everything I thought I should have said…). Or I might have simply said, “Are you serious?”
Option Two, I could turn back around and just let it go. Peering into the eyes of the friend standing next to her, I thought the friend was silently trying to convey something. I'd like to believe her eyes were saying, “Please. Say it…please!” But I think she was saying, “Don’t let her get to you, honey. You can't reason with a woman like this."
So I chose to say nothing. My face broke into a funny, uncomfortable smile and I closed my ready mouth and turned around. You know, they always say, “Silence is Golden”. They forget to add how painful it can be…

Why am I sharing this with you? Well, two reasons:

First for people who see a scene like that taking place in public: Have mercy. You probably had a tantrum or two when you were a kid. It’s part of growing up. Don’t tell me it isn’t. It is.

Then, for moms who are in the midst of the moment: Don’t listen to those people who are talking behind your back saying things like, “Why don’t she get control of that youngin’. I’d take him out and whup him” (That is what some folks say down here.) Or they say, “That’s just bad parenting,”…ignore them. They don’t know what they’re talking about.

Be brave. Never give up. And don’t give in.
This is temporary, I assure you.

Some day they’re going to be all grown up, and they’ll say, “Mom, how did you put up with me for all those years.”


And you’ll say, “Oh, you've always been a good kid.”

Mothering Grown-ups

Once upon a time I thought that my children would grow up and my job as a mother would be done. Though I love being a mom, I was tired. With a capital "T". And the kids were always fighting and getting into trouble, babies nekked in the front yard, others jumping off the porch into pillows...it was crazy around here. The house was a wreck. Laundry was everywhere. There was never an extra dime in the checkbook. Hardly even time to make more babies, if you get my drift...

So I clung to the hope that some day Bill and I would at last have time to "Spend Together". With money to Spend Together. Alone, without laundry or dishes or poopy diapers and other parently things. Romance and all that stuff that you're desperate for when you're young and have young'uns at home. But now that the kids are all official "grown-ups", I realize that that was a rediculous notion; the dream of a young and idealistic woman.

First off, my friend. Kids never grow up. (I didn't! I still felt like Daddy's little girl at age 57.)

Secondly, did I say romance? Are you kidding? Why is it that when we have kids around all the time, we never have the opportunity, and when we at last have the opportunity, we aren't nearly as interested? Romance, indeed.

As for the house being messy, who cares? And money. Who has money these days, anyway? I can buy sheets without feeling guilty now, and that's an improvement.

And last, did I use the word "alone"? Bill and I are still almost never alone. With our big bunch, someone is always coming home for the weekend, and when that one leaves, another shows up for the week. And the celebrations are constant. Last week was Kathleene's 40th birthday with 30 people at my house, and this weekend is Israel's second with a party at the other grandma's house.

But who's complaining? We are crazy about every one of our kids and their families, too. We are blessed to the max.

(By the way, folks, when it comes to sex, everybody knows that sex is overrated in our society...at least, that's what Bill and I think we should keep telling ourselves. But we don't. We just complain. Grope and complain behind our grown children's backs...)

What brought this all on is JoAnna. Still Baby Joie, to me. She is 25 and is moving to New York City next month. It's such a big deal for Bill and me, as all of our children but for our California girl, live relatively nearby. This weekend Joie is flying up there to check out apartments in the big city. Alone. I'm a nervous wreck, but not as much of one as she is. (If it wasn't for prayer, I'd not be able to let her go at all.) Being the last week of summer (and Bill's in the school building business,) Bill can't go with her. And while I would really like to help, and think I am best at these things, I am unable to do so due to advanced arthritis. I've been to New York before, and know how hard it is to get around up there. If Joie were moving to Charlotte or Atlanta or Los Angeles (or any place that has parking places instead of subways) I would be able to assist in the hunt for a home. But not New York City.

So JoAnna is all grown up today, whether she likes it or not. Whether I like it or not. And she was my little Joie just yesterday. That's life, my friend.

So to you young mothers, I say, "Enjoy!" Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy!!! Enjoy this moment. Enjoy this day. I know it's hard sometimes. You're tired. You're sick of washing laundry and doing homework. The house looks like one of those reality shows where they make some poor packrat throw out everything. To top it all off, you haven't got a moment to romp with your hubbie, and you are young enough to be desperate.

Darlin'. Listen to a woman who understands (believe me) how you're feeling right about now. All too soon, your youngsters are going to be grown-ups just like my kids are. Just like you are. One day. Some day. But before you start feeling all sad and depressed, I am here to assure you that you needn't worry about ever losing your job as a mother. Because that, my dear, will never happen.

Once a mother, always a mother. And that's that.

Deber

PS: Bill and I have two (2) baskets of laundry in our bedroom as a regular lifestyle. Laundry is forever...