My mother has a way about her that caused me to give her the label of "snipe".
By that I mean, she goes in, makes the hit, and then disappears into the "crowd" as swiftly and quietly as possible. Let me give you a couple examples...
My boyfriend had just gotten a number two buzz (on his head). He kept his beard long because we were going camping in an area that would be a bit chilly and the beard would add some warmth for him. My mother noticed his beard and short hair and said,
"What'd you do? Put your head on upside down this morning? You've got more hair on your chin than you do on your head!" and then she slipped away, leaving my boyfriend wondering if he should laugh or be offended.
That's one example and if my memory was better I could list a slew of cases like this. It makes me laugh when I think about her "hits" on people and they don't have to be family. Anyone within earshot can get a snipe hit from Mom.
Another that comes to mind was this:
After telling me how much she noticed my boyfriend visiting the refrigerator, Mom waited until she saw him standing in the kitchen, near us, and said,
"He sure is getting FAT!"
Oh my goodness, Mom! Ha ha. I couldn't help but laugh because she said it loud enough for him to hear but not loud enough to make him think she wanted him to. She's very talented at that. A person isn't sure if they were supposed to hear the "hit" or not so they kind of slither away wondering how to react. My poor boyfriend hides himself and has become very sneaky about getting into the refrigerator when she can't see him. Ha.
I guess it's true, that when you get to be Mom's age you can do or say just about anything without repercussion because everyone knows you're "old". I can't wait to be of that age.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Do Our Children Suffer While We Take Care Of Our Parents?
My daughter is eighteen and living with her boyfriend's parents' home. She tells me she's fine, she's happy there, and they are taking good care of her by providing a home and meals for her. These are some incredible Christian people who take people in when they see there is a need.
The need for my daughter to move into that house arose when we were told by the city that she couldn't sleep in the "playhouse" outside, that it wasn't coded for that. I understand that and told my daughter she could move back in her room and I'd sleep in Grandma's room. She didn't like the idea of staying in the house, she was enjoying her independence in the "playhouse" and didn't want to give it up. That's when she told her boyfriend she had no place to go and that's when his parents took her in. A true blessing but we could have worked around the situation had my daughter not been so stubborn about taking her room back.
I saw my daughter on the Forth of July celebration we went to. She looked terrible and now I'm very worried about her. She has dark circles under her eyes, is moving very slowly, there's not a hint of joy in her eyes, they look flat to me, lifeless. I am worried sick about her. Her depression started a long time ago and she used to take medication for it and that made things better for her. Now that she's legally and adult there's nothing I can do about making her take meds.
So she is struggling for no reason and I blame myself.
I gave up a lot of time with my daughter to help my mother before my daughter and I moved back in with Mom. I am concerned that all that time lost had a very negative effect on my daughter. I realize that her depression is hereditary, I and my son have the same problem with mental disorders. I believe that my time spent with Mom instead of my daughter kicked in her depression or made it worse. Her dad was not in the picture at all so there was no one else for her as far as family was concerned.
Death and dying and taking care of our family members is a part of life but when it comes to someone like my daughter who was hurt badly by people she trusted before I started caring for Mom, I think it deepens a sense of isolation from being loved and cared for. My daughter was hurt by the people in her life she should have been able to trust and that gave her irreparable scars and now she is so depressed and so distant I worry about her.
I wouldn't give up taking care of my Mom for anything, there's no one else to do it and she wants no one else to be here with her. These are the last months or years of her life and she deserves my best attention. But so does my daughter. The only thing that makes me feel better at all about this dilemma is knowing (hoping) my daughter and I will have time together after Mom is gone. I'm counting on being able to mend our relationship then when I have time to. I pray she'll be okay till then.
The need for my daughter to move into that house arose when we were told by the city that she couldn't sleep in the "playhouse" outside, that it wasn't coded for that. I understand that and told my daughter she could move back in her room and I'd sleep in Grandma's room. She didn't like the idea of staying in the house, she was enjoying her independence in the "playhouse" and didn't want to give it up. That's when she told her boyfriend she had no place to go and that's when his parents took her in. A true blessing but we could have worked around the situation had my daughter not been so stubborn about taking her room back.
I saw my daughter on the Forth of July celebration we went to. She looked terrible and now I'm very worried about her. She has dark circles under her eyes, is moving very slowly, there's not a hint of joy in her eyes, they look flat to me, lifeless. I am worried sick about her. Her depression started a long time ago and she used to take medication for it and that made things better for her. Now that she's legally and adult there's nothing I can do about making her take meds.
So she is struggling for no reason and I blame myself.
I gave up a lot of time with my daughter to help my mother before my daughter and I moved back in with Mom. I am concerned that all that time lost had a very negative effect on my daughter. I realize that her depression is hereditary, I and my son have the same problem with mental disorders. I believe that my time spent with Mom instead of my daughter kicked in her depression or made it worse. Her dad was not in the picture at all so there was no one else for her as far as family was concerned.
Death and dying and taking care of our family members is a part of life but when it comes to someone like my daughter who was hurt badly by people she trusted before I started caring for Mom, I think it deepens a sense of isolation from being loved and cared for. My daughter was hurt by the people in her life she should have been able to trust and that gave her irreparable scars and now she is so depressed and so distant I worry about her.
I wouldn't give up taking care of my Mom for anything, there's no one else to do it and she wants no one else to be here with her. These are the last months or years of her life and she deserves my best attention. But so does my daughter. The only thing that makes me feel better at all about this dilemma is knowing (hoping) my daughter and I will have time together after Mom is gone. I'm counting on being able to mend our relationship then when I have time to. I pray she'll be okay till then.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Letting The Dust Settle; My Lesson In Housekeeping
Taking care of my mother is a privileged I'll always be grateful for. I get no help from my three siblings, except a once in a week, one hour visit when my sister comes to see Mom. Other than that one hour once a week, I do everything myself. At least I try to.
Looking around the house while sitting with Mom I see the living room needs dusting, the whole house needs to be vacuumed, there are dishes in the dishwasher that need putting away so all the ones in the sink can be rinsed off and loaded. I can't see the laundry that needs to be done or the bathrooms that always need cleaning, but I know they are there.
I used to try and keep the house spotless and started getting it organized. We have a lot of stuff in this house, my mother's things have been collected for fifty years. Add to that my stuff, my daughter's stuff, my son's and boyfriend's stuff and you've got a packed, cluttered, unorganized home. I have a storage that is full of more STUFF. I pay almost one hundred fifty dollars a month to store things I don't even know I have and will probably never use. (I got this ability to rat pack from watching my mother do it for fifty years.)
In the midst of organizing with my non-organizational skills, I figured out that if I left everything where it was, whether it was causing clutter or not, we would be able to find what we were looking for. Organizing this house only caused the entire family great chaos, confusion, and frustration because we can't find anything that we are looking for, even if that thing is in the place that makes most sense!
I decided to let it all go, to let the dust settle anywhere it wants, to let the floors have some spots on them, to let the dust bunnies sleep in their hiding places under the furniture. Sitting with Mom is much more important than keeping the house spotless and organizing it simply wrong in this house.
Looking at my Mom, even though she's asleep sitting up in her chair, she has a smile on her face, I think because she knows I'm here for her. That makes all of it worthwhile. She just needs me to sit with her and make her feel safe and comfortable.
Looking around the house while sitting with Mom I see the living room needs dusting, the whole house needs to be vacuumed, there are dishes in the dishwasher that need putting away so all the ones in the sink can be rinsed off and loaded. I can't see the laundry that needs to be done or the bathrooms that always need cleaning, but I know they are there.
I used to try and keep the house spotless and started getting it organized. We have a lot of stuff in this house, my mother's things have been collected for fifty years. Add to that my stuff, my daughter's stuff, my son's and boyfriend's stuff and you've got a packed, cluttered, unorganized home. I have a storage that is full of more STUFF. I pay almost one hundred fifty dollars a month to store things I don't even know I have and will probably never use. (I got this ability to rat pack from watching my mother do it for fifty years.)
In the midst of organizing with my non-organizational skills, I figured out that if I left everything where it was, whether it was causing clutter or not, we would be able to find what we were looking for. Organizing this house only caused the entire family great chaos, confusion, and frustration because we can't find anything that we are looking for, even if that thing is in the place that makes most sense!
I decided to let it all go, to let the dust settle anywhere it wants, to let the floors have some spots on them, to let the dust bunnies sleep in their hiding places under the furniture. Sitting with Mom is much more important than keeping the house spotless and organizing it simply wrong in this house.
Looking at my Mom, even though she's asleep sitting up in her chair, she has a smile on her face, I think because she knows I'm here for her. That makes all of it worthwhile. She just needs me to sit with her and make her feel safe and comfortable.
Transitions And Promises
We are going through a strange transition in that I have always been so dependent upon my mother and now she is becoming more and more dependent on me. It's confusing, frustrating, and scary. I handled my kids being dependent upon me while they were growing up, that came natural to me and to most parents. The phenomenon of Mom needing me at all is very strange. I still need her, and now I am the one who has to be the Giant. Those are some big shoes to fill and I have great fear that I won't be able to do it.
I pray and ask God simply to "help me keep my promises" and hope I can. The last thing I want to do is let down this woman in her last years of life after she has given up her own desires and needs for us four kids, up till now. That would be over fifty years of care taking us. I'm sure a counselor would have something to say about a mother who helps her kids out when they are adults and should be able to take care of themselves. But you see, all us kids have special needs and really couldn't do it on our own. Some may say that is because Mom made us be dependent on her. That is probably partly true. Two of us, myself and my little brother are somewhat dependent upon her due to being bipolar. There are times when we need Mom when symptoms get bad and we can't take care of ourselves. My older brother and younger sister have grown and become relatively independent of Mom, finally, after so many years.
I pray and ask God simply to "help me keep my promises" and hope I can. The last thing I want to do is let down this woman in her last years of life after she has given up her own desires and needs for us four kids, up till now. That would be over fifty years of care taking us. I'm sure a counselor would have something to say about a mother who helps her kids out when they are adults and should be able to take care of themselves. But you see, all us kids have special needs and really couldn't do it on our own. Some may say that is because Mom made us be dependent on her. That is probably partly true. Two of us, myself and my little brother are somewhat dependent upon her due to being bipolar. There are times when we need Mom when symptoms get bad and we can't take care of ourselves. My older brother and younger sister have grown and become relatively independent of Mom, finally, after so many years.
The C Word
Mom went to great lengths to make sure all of us were loved. That was the important thing. No matter what we were doing, what heartache we caused her, she always let us know we were loved. I think I can count on one hand the times I've heard her say the words "I love you" to me, in all my fifty years of life. That doesn't mean the love isn't there. It's just the words that aren't there. I didn't figure this out till late in life, unfortunately and rebelled against a mother who I thought didn't love me. I selfishly didn't look closely enough to see her pain, her insecurity and fear with intimacy. She wasn't treated well when she was a child and I think it all stems from that. Now that I understand that, I have forgiven her and allowed her to be the way she is - a loving, caring, over protective mother who doesn't have the ability to say those three words, in the same way she is not willing or able to hug or be hugged. Every once in a while I sneak in a quick "around the shoulders" hug and I can feel her body tense up underneath my arms so I let go fast and give her the space she needs. It always makes me smile these days because I understand. In the past I was always hurt and angry when Mom avoided intimacy like that.
Mom has Parkinson's Disease, congestive heart failure, colitis, diverticulitis, and now (we found out last month) she has the Inflammatory type of breast cancer... The kind that doesn't show up on a mammogram because it is in particle cells, not tumors. At the stage we caught the cancer it is inoperable, spreading across half her chest and the correlating pectoral area. The oncologist said it's in her breast lymph and when I asked him (I already knew the answer but still was hoping for a different answer) if the breast lymph are in the same system with her lymphatic system. Of course he said "Yes" and that's when my heart sank.
At Mom's age, 83, and with her other diagnosis's, it would be too risky to operate because she would have trouble healing with such a large area needing surgery. Chemo and radiation are out of the question for the same reason. She wouldn't survive any of that. The oncologist gave her a miracle medication called Arimidex. He said it MIGHT shrink the cancer by fify percent, if it even works for her. My heart sank lower when I heard all this and I hate to admit it but most of my Hope vanished by then. He said if the medication does work, it could be two years. IF. I started hating that word and wished it out of the English language. IF was so ... IFY! What if? I was (am) afraid to loose my mother, she's always been the stability in my life even after Dad died. Without her my life would be empty, there'd be a void that could never be filled and I've already got one of those from my Dad's death. I didn't think I could handle another void like that. It has never been filled by anything even 39 years after his death. How was I supposed to handle my mother's death?
Those questions will be answered some day. I've heard over and over again that God doesn't give us anything we can't handle. I beg to differ but I won't argue with you on that. Just know that my Dad's death was too much for me to handle.
I called Arimidex a miracle drug because it is. At least for my mother, it is. Only three weeks after she started taking it, the cancer appears to have shrunk by about fifty percent and is still shrinking. It's amazing to see the change in her. Hope was restored in both of us, in my siblings and Mom's friends. There would be no writing this lady off, she responded to the medication extremely well and suffers none of the common painful side effects it tends to cause. Miracle? Definitely.
Mom has Parkinson's Disease, congestive heart failure, colitis, diverticulitis, and now (we found out last month) she has the Inflammatory type of breast cancer... The kind that doesn't show up on a mammogram because it is in particle cells, not tumors. At the stage we caught the cancer it is inoperable, spreading across half her chest and the correlating pectoral area. The oncologist said it's in her breast lymph and when I asked him (I already knew the answer but still was hoping for a different answer) if the breast lymph are in the same system with her lymphatic system. Of course he said "Yes" and that's when my heart sank.
At Mom's age, 83, and with her other diagnosis's, it would be too risky to operate because she would have trouble healing with such a large area needing surgery. Chemo and radiation are out of the question for the same reason. She wouldn't survive any of that. The oncologist gave her a miracle medication called Arimidex. He said it MIGHT shrink the cancer by fify percent, if it even works for her. My heart sank lower when I heard all this and I hate to admit it but most of my Hope vanished by then. He said if the medication does work, it could be two years. IF. I started hating that word and wished it out of the English language. IF was so ... IFY! What if? I was (am) afraid to loose my mother, she's always been the stability in my life even after Dad died. Without her my life would be empty, there'd be a void that could never be filled and I've already got one of those from my Dad's death. I didn't think I could handle another void like that. It has never been filled by anything even 39 years after his death. How was I supposed to handle my mother's death?
Those questions will be answered some day. I've heard over and over again that God doesn't give us anything we can't handle. I beg to differ but I won't argue with you on that. Just know that my Dad's death was too much for me to handle.
I called Arimidex a miracle drug because it is. At least for my mother, it is. Only three weeks after she started taking it, the cancer appears to have shrunk by about fifty percent and is still shrinking. It's amazing to see the change in her. Hope was restored in both of us, in my siblings and Mom's friends. There would be no writing this lady off, she responded to the medication extremely well and suffers none of the common painful side effects it tends to cause. Miracle? Definitely.
My Mom - Mother Teresa
...This post is a continuation of My Mom The Giant
To my knowledge my mother has never lied. I know she never smoked, drank alcohol, never gambled, and never tried street drugs. Even now, when she has pain, she takes only one aspirin for relief and that's very rare. I only know of one incidence I can remember when my mother cried and even then she did it hiding in her bathroom while us kids were outside the door listening and pointing blame at each other for making our Mom cry. We were good at that, blaming each other. When Mom asked us kids "Who tried to glue the dogs together?" each of us would say , "Not me!" and "I didn't!" while giving a look to another of our siblings to try and get them in trouble. We were stinkers. That's when Mom would say, "Well, then, do you expect me to believe a ghost did it?" That was our cue to giggle and run, so we did, leaving poor Mom standing over the dogs who were covered in white school glue, wagging their tails as if they did something good and deserved a treat for their glue deed.
Mom had plenty of trouble with us kids. My little sister started running away from home when she became a teenager. My Mom was beside herself. She and Dad went through so much to adopt us (it took ten years of applying and proving themselves to the Social Services before they were able to adopt their first child, my big brother). Mom was probably a bit over protective but understandably so. She didn't want anything to happen to us, she wanted us so bad and finally got us, she was determined to make sure we were always safe.... At least the best she could because when each of us entered the teen years we really went wild. Oh yea, and my big brother signed up for the Special Forces division of the US Army during the Viet Nam era. Lucky for my brother the war ended before he graduated from his training. Good for Mom too because I don't think she could have handled worrying about my brother if he were sent to Nam. She had enough going on at home with the rest of us.
While my sister was doing the running away , coming home, and running away again (I'm talking for months at a time) my little brother all of a sudden decided he couldn't go to school anymore. Social Services was already involved because of my sister (she got caught shop lifting and the whole story came out about how she was a run away) and then they started blaming my mother for all our troubles. They said it was her fault my sister ran away from home and they were holding her responsible for my little brother refusing to go back to the seventh grade. We tried to get him there, believe me. The times when we got him there successfully he'd wait till no one was looking and run right out of school. I think something at school happened to him. I don't know what, probably never will but his fear of going back was so intense it caused him to throw up every morning he was supposed to go. Our next door neighbor was the dean of students at my high school and helped Mom and I get my little brother to school but he never stayed. We even brought him straight to the principal's office and sat him there in front of the head of school. My sneaky brother asked to use the bathroom, was excused for that purpose but my brother kept going and walked himself right out of school. We tried different schools, even an expensive Christian school but always had the same result. It's puzzling still but my little brother did fine for himself without his public school education. He taught himself everything he knows and is extremely smart.
So by this time Mom was exasperated and busy with my two younger siblings and didn't have a lot of time for me, the boy crazy girl in the family. She didn't pay attention too much to what I was doing, she hardly had the time or energy. There were so many things that happened in my life I thought she didn't know about - until she confronted me about some of them while holding my secret diary in one hand and shaking a finger with the other. I couldn't believe she found it, I had it well hidden in my secret place. It's amazing what lengths a mother will go to...
Today Mom is sleeping in her chair next to me. It is becoming more and more difficult for me to see her weakened by her cancer and Parkinson's and heart disease. My Mom the Giant is slowly being reduced to being totally dependent on me for her needs. She's not there yet but she will be someday soon and I'm not sure I can step up to that challenge.
Years ago I promised Mom I wouldn't allow anyone to put her in a convalescent hospital, and that I'd make sure she could die in the home she's lived in for fifty years now. I have experience in the medical field, especially with geriatrics. I was in the registered nursing program for a few semesters and have some knowledge and experience in basic nursing skills. When I made that promise to Mom I felt fully confident in myself to be able to keep my word and take care of Mom in her last days (or years).
Now that those last days (hopefully years!) is upon us, my confidence in my abilities has become doubtful to me. I don't think it's my skills I'm worried about, it's my emotional health. I didn't know just how hard it is to be with a parent everyday, almost twenty-four hours a day, and watch them as their health deteriorates. I guess I'm still coming to terms with the fact that even my Mom is not immortal and there will come a day when she'll pass on to a better life and be with my Dad in Heaven.
I do what I can to take care of her which doesn't require much, really. She's still ambulatory, can dress herself and doesn't require feeding. All I really do is try to keep the house clean, fix healthy meals for her (except for the occasional banana split we have instead of dinner), do the shopping and her laundry, and help her in the shower. Being here is the most important thing she needs. Her Parkinson's causes her to fall now and then.
To my knowledge my mother has never lied. I know she never smoked, drank alcohol, never gambled, and never tried street drugs. Even now, when she has pain, she takes only one aspirin for relief and that's very rare. I only know of one incidence I can remember when my mother cried and even then she did it hiding in her bathroom while us kids were outside the door listening and pointing blame at each other for making our Mom cry. We were good at that, blaming each other. When Mom asked us kids "Who tried to glue the dogs together?" each of us would say , "Not me!" and "I didn't!" while giving a look to another of our siblings to try and get them in trouble. We were stinkers. That's when Mom would say, "Well, then, do you expect me to believe a ghost did it?" That was our cue to giggle and run, so we did, leaving poor Mom standing over the dogs who were covered in white school glue, wagging their tails as if they did something good and deserved a treat for their glue deed.
Mom had plenty of trouble with us kids. My little sister started running away from home when she became a teenager. My Mom was beside herself. She and Dad went through so much to adopt us (it took ten years of applying and proving themselves to the Social Services before they were able to adopt their first child, my big brother). Mom was probably a bit over protective but understandably so. She didn't want anything to happen to us, she wanted us so bad and finally got us, she was determined to make sure we were always safe.... At least the best she could because when each of us entered the teen years we really went wild. Oh yea, and my big brother signed up for the Special Forces division of the US Army during the Viet Nam era. Lucky for my brother the war ended before he graduated from his training. Good for Mom too because I don't think she could have handled worrying about my brother if he were sent to Nam. She had enough going on at home with the rest of us.
While my sister was doing the running away , coming home, and running away again (I'm talking for months at a time) my little brother all of a sudden decided he couldn't go to school anymore. Social Services was already involved because of my sister (she got caught shop lifting and the whole story came out about how she was a run away) and then they started blaming my mother for all our troubles. They said it was her fault my sister ran away from home and they were holding her responsible for my little brother refusing to go back to the seventh grade. We tried to get him there, believe me. The times when we got him there successfully he'd wait till no one was looking and run right out of school. I think something at school happened to him. I don't know what, probably never will but his fear of going back was so intense it caused him to throw up every morning he was supposed to go. Our next door neighbor was the dean of students at my high school and helped Mom and I get my little brother to school but he never stayed. We even brought him straight to the principal's office and sat him there in front of the head of school. My sneaky brother asked to use the bathroom, was excused for that purpose but my brother kept going and walked himself right out of school. We tried different schools, even an expensive Christian school but always had the same result. It's puzzling still but my little brother did fine for himself without his public school education. He taught himself everything he knows and is extremely smart.
So by this time Mom was exasperated and busy with my two younger siblings and didn't have a lot of time for me, the boy crazy girl in the family. She didn't pay attention too much to what I was doing, she hardly had the time or energy. There were so many things that happened in my life I thought she didn't know about - until she confronted me about some of them while holding my secret diary in one hand and shaking a finger with the other. I couldn't believe she found it, I had it well hidden in my secret place. It's amazing what lengths a mother will go to...
Today Mom is sleeping in her chair next to me. It is becoming more and more difficult for me to see her weakened by her cancer and Parkinson's and heart disease. My Mom the Giant is slowly being reduced to being totally dependent on me for her needs. She's not there yet but she will be someday soon and I'm not sure I can step up to that challenge.
Years ago I promised Mom I wouldn't allow anyone to put her in a convalescent hospital, and that I'd make sure she could die in the home she's lived in for fifty years now. I have experience in the medical field, especially with geriatrics. I was in the registered nursing program for a few semesters and have some knowledge and experience in basic nursing skills. When I made that promise to Mom I felt fully confident in myself to be able to keep my word and take care of Mom in her last days (or years).
Now that those last days (hopefully years!) is upon us, my confidence in my abilities has become doubtful to me. I don't think it's my skills I'm worried about, it's my emotional health. I didn't know just how hard it is to be with a parent everyday, almost twenty-four hours a day, and watch them as their health deteriorates. I guess I'm still coming to terms with the fact that even my Mom is not immortal and there will come a day when she'll pass on to a better life and be with my Dad in Heaven.
I do what I can to take care of her which doesn't require much, really. She's still ambulatory, can dress herself and doesn't require feeding. All I really do is try to keep the house clean, fix healthy meals for her (except for the occasional banana split we have instead of dinner), do the shopping and her laundry, and help her in the shower. Being here is the most important thing she needs. Her Parkinson's causes her to fall now and then.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
My Mom, The Giant
My Mom is only 5' 2" but in my eyes she's a giant.
After my Dad was killed firefighting when us four kids were only ages five through thirteen, my Mom raised us all by herself. She was always there for us, through our entire lives, even now when we're ages forty five through fifty three. She will always be there for us, as long as she's alive and probably after she goes to Heaven, too.
What really makes Mom special to me is not just the love she gave us but that love was unconditional for children that she and Dad adopted when we were babies. Not one of us is blood related to another but she treated us probably better than most blood related children are treated. I've always been grateful to her for the way she gave up a social life to stay home with us as we were growing up. She never had to work because Dad's fireman's pension was enough to keep the family going. Thank God Dad had things set up in case something happened to him.
When we were toddler age Mom took each of us to pre-school for a couple years. This wasn't the kind where you drop your kid off so you can go to work, there weren't very many of those back then. This pre-school was a learning center for parenting and observing toddlers. We learned, we sang, we danced, we made things and went on field trips. My Mom was always with us every step of the way.
When in elementary school she made our lunch everyday except for Fridays when we could buy lunch in the cafeteria if we so chose. That's when lunches were made at the school, not shipped frozen in a truck and dropped off once every two weeks. The lunches Mom made had a sandwich, a piece of fruit, and two different kinds of the cookies she made that week. That was something special too, that she made cookies, baked bread, and was a fantastic cook but never really seemed to spend a lot of time in the kitchen.
Mom always kept the house sanitary but not spotless. It was safe and clean but we still had fun in it. We weren't allowed to ride our bikes in the house of course (yet she allowed my daughter to ride her Big Wheel up and down the hallway! Go figure!), but we found other ways to have our fun in the house - as well as outside the house. We lived (live) in a very nice neighborhood where the kids were able to play in the street after dark (it's still that way!) and so us kids and the neighborhood kids played a lot of baseball and hide-and-go-seek. That was my favorite, especially after I pitched a ball to my big brother who cracked it hard and the ball ended up landing square on my jaw, knocking me to the ground, almost knocking me out. Hide-and-go-seek was much safer, in my book.
Mom taught us how to cook and signed me into cooking classes at our local Gas Company where they would have a bake off contest and the winners would get respective ribbons for their prized baked item. I was two years too young to join the classes so Mom lied about my age for two years because she knew I was a good cook like her and I could handle it. I was nine years old three years in a row. Heh, heh. The problem came when I won a bake off and the newspaper would print it in the local fish wrapper (ha) with my name and age and what I made, recipe included. We just pretended like the paper made a mistake when I was the same age three years in a row. Ha, ha.
Mom also taught me how to sew. We made umpteen doll clothes with the scraps we had from the clothes my mother made for my sister and I. I think I was the only kid on the block who had Barbie clothes that matched my own clothes. Now when I look at those tiny little Barbie clothes with teeny weeny zippers and buttons, I can't believe we made them, they're so SMALL! I started making my own clothes too, when I was old enough and won a couple awards in sewing contests in Junior High. I attribute any cooking or sewing award to my Mom who taught me so well. When I was in high school and the Ditto jeans were "IN" and all the girls at school were wearing them, Mom made my sister and I a pair of jeans that resembled Dittos so much no one could tell they weren't. In fact, some of the girls argued with me that they HAD to be the Ditto brand and my mother couldn't possibly have made them! She was that good.
Is she starting to sound like Mother Teresa? If not yet, you'll soon think so...
This post is continued here: My Mom - Mother Teresa
After my Dad was killed firefighting when us four kids were only ages five through thirteen, my Mom raised us all by herself. She was always there for us, through our entire lives, even now when we're ages forty five through fifty three. She will always be there for us, as long as she's alive and probably after she goes to Heaven, too.
What really makes Mom special to me is not just the love she gave us but that love was unconditional for children that she and Dad adopted when we were babies. Not one of us is blood related to another but she treated us probably better than most blood related children are treated. I've always been grateful to her for the way she gave up a social life to stay home with us as we were growing up. She never had to work because Dad's fireman's pension was enough to keep the family going. Thank God Dad had things set up in case something happened to him.
When we were toddler age Mom took each of us to pre-school for a couple years. This wasn't the kind where you drop your kid off so you can go to work, there weren't very many of those back then. This pre-school was a learning center for parenting and observing toddlers. We learned, we sang, we danced, we made things and went on field trips. My Mom was always with us every step of the way.
When in elementary school she made our lunch everyday except for Fridays when we could buy lunch in the cafeteria if we so chose. That's when lunches were made at the school, not shipped frozen in a truck and dropped off once every two weeks. The lunches Mom made had a sandwich, a piece of fruit, and two different kinds of the cookies she made that week. That was something special too, that she made cookies, baked bread, and was a fantastic cook but never really seemed to spend a lot of time in the kitchen.
Mom always kept the house sanitary but not spotless. It was safe and clean but we still had fun in it. We weren't allowed to ride our bikes in the house of course (yet she allowed my daughter to ride her Big Wheel up and down the hallway! Go figure!), but we found other ways to have our fun in the house - as well as outside the house. We lived (live) in a very nice neighborhood where the kids were able to play in the street after dark (it's still that way!) and so us kids and the neighborhood kids played a lot of baseball and hide-and-go-seek. That was my favorite, especially after I pitched a ball to my big brother who cracked it hard and the ball ended up landing square on my jaw, knocking me to the ground, almost knocking me out. Hide-and-go-seek was much safer, in my book.
Mom taught us how to cook and signed me into cooking classes at our local Gas Company where they would have a bake off contest and the winners would get respective ribbons for their prized baked item. I was two years too young to join the classes so Mom lied about my age for two years because she knew I was a good cook like her and I could handle it. I was nine years old three years in a row. Heh, heh. The problem came when I won a bake off and the newspaper would print it in the local fish wrapper (ha) with my name and age and what I made, recipe included. We just pretended like the paper made a mistake when I was the same age three years in a row. Ha, ha.
Mom also taught me how to sew. We made umpteen doll clothes with the scraps we had from the clothes my mother made for my sister and I. I think I was the only kid on the block who had Barbie clothes that matched my own clothes. Now when I look at those tiny little Barbie clothes with teeny weeny zippers and buttons, I can't believe we made them, they're so SMALL! I started making my own clothes too, when I was old enough and won a couple awards in sewing contests in Junior High. I attribute any cooking or sewing award to my Mom who taught me so well. When I was in high school and the Ditto jeans were "IN" and all the girls at school were wearing them, Mom made my sister and I a pair of jeans that resembled Dittos so much no one could tell they weren't. In fact, some of the girls argued with me that they HAD to be the Ditto brand and my mother couldn't possibly have made them! She was that good.
Is she starting to sound like Mother Teresa? If not yet, you'll soon think so...
This post is continued here: My Mom - Mother Teresa
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