Donna Reed wouldn't...

I am old.  Not necessarily chronologically, but my numbers definitely sound less fresh and dewy as I get closer to this birthday.  I am old as in black and white classics, crinolines and pearls.  Old fashioned.  I want to live in place ad time where things are a little more…classy.

I am old-fashioned and more conservative than I would have imagined in my teens.  I am easily embarrassed and blush furiously when friends launch into private aspects of their lives, marriage, relationships, and body functions.    I'm not offended.  I can giggle and laugh, see the humor, even sometimes join in the conversation, but not without a lobster-red patina. 

This is great fun for my co-workers, most of whom are younger than I am and way more cool than I have ever been, but it also leaves me wondering if I am raising my children to be as ill-fitting as I was as a teenager?    Still, I can only teach what I know and what I know is 1950's culture and values.

Recently I realized that I probably emerged from the womb at age 40 in terms of my social sensibilities.  I spent weeks agonizing over finding the right dress for my upcoming high school reunion and found that what I am drawn to is the fashion of the movies I grew up watching with my mother.  Movies where women wore dresses every minute of the day, vacuumed in pearls, and never broke a sweat.   I love dresses that seem to appear only on fetish sites these days.    

I finally found my perfect dress only to find that it is probably more dress than the occasion calls for.    So could someone please have a cocktail party with 40's jazz so I have a reason to buy this dress?  I NEED it….

Today Miss Five and I had a lesson in being lady-like.  It seems that at the age of five, some things are just not going to go away through sheer modeling or indirect suggestion.    And at this time, as well as all the others that came before it, I ask "Who am I to be teaching this?  What if I'm really all wrong and my poor daughter ends up carrying on my legacy of 'not getting it'?"    What if, for example, retrieving a "wedgie" is actually totally acceptable in the middle of the check-out line, and I'm just the last to know?

Lesson one:  If you are wearing a skirt, criss-cross applesauce may not be your go-to seated position.  Why you ask?  "Everyone can see your undies…."  (Assuming that this was a morning you actually put them on and didn't give your bear an uber-fashionable hat.)"….Yes, yes, I know your undies are really nice and have Dora on them and that your friends love Dora…No, it isn't okay to show them to your friend at daycare even if he is the boy you are going to marry…Why?  Well,…big girls just don't.  Why?....because they cover parts of your body that are more private and not for sharing with everyone…Why isn't an elbow private?...Um….I think…well, I don't know exactly, but for now  the rule is undies cover things that are private and undies are not for everyone to see."

Lesson two:  "When you are sitting in a skirt, maybe try sitting with your legs on one side….okay, nice try, but maybe on one side and your legs together?"  We actually went through a step by step that had my grown-up brain hearing it being broadcast in therapy years later…."Well first, try getting down on your knees"…(OMG, that sounds all wrong)….and then kind of sit on one side and bend your legs…together…bend your legs together on the other side…..What do you do if a bug crawls up your skirt?"…(whatever the heck you have to do to get the bug out of your skirt!  Run!  Flap!  Shake, whatever!)…"Um…I think that won't usually happen, but people will understand if you have to get up quickly."

Lesson three:  "If your hands are messy, wipe them on a napkin and not on your shirt.  Oh, no, we don't wipe them on pants or skirts either.   Socks?  Um, no….Undies?  Even bigger no….Why?  Because the Queen wouldn't do that…..Yes, I'm pretty sure that queens and princesses do not wipe their peanut butter hands on their royal undies."    We have even made up a pseudo-Mary Poppins song that cycles through "We wipe our hands on a napkin, never on a shirt.  A shirt is for a kiddo and a napkin is for dirt."

It seems like every day there is a new layer of reminding to be done and it seems increasingly a miracle to me that children ever go off to school with manners and a lack of ferity.      It seems equally amazing to me that the same child who cannot care less that her hair is an untamed bundle of fuzz; her face has peanut butter from chin to eyebrow; and fights tooth-brushing; is the same child who walks by a rack of fashionable printed bras and coos  "Oooh…..Mama, isn't that pretty?"    

Yes, very fashionable, but please… stop retrieving your undies while standing in the middle of the aisle?

Mother's Day Eve

Mother's Day Eve…when mothers leave out milk and cookies, hoping an elf will trade them for mimosas and brunch.  Or in my house, when Mama just hopes to sleep past 5:30 without being asked to sing about popping weasels or Darlin' Clementine.

Motherhood has been  wild and unpredictable; not something I usually like.  I'll say it.  I'm a control freak.  But, I love being  a mother.  Even when I have not a clue what's coming next or how to "do" what needs doing.  It's a wild, out of control ride and I wouldn't give up my tickets.

A little background…I've always been uncertain.  About everything.  I always wonder if I'm doing it right.  Motherhood has not made this less of a reality for me, it's just that I'm so tired and busy much of the time, that I can only wonder and worry half as much as I used to. (And for those of you who know me well, holy [expletive] that's a lot of worry!)Mother's Day Eve, when mother's all over the world leave out milk and cookies hoping a jolly elf will trade them for mimosas and brunch.Mother's Day Eve, when mother's all over the world leave out milk and cookies hoping a jolly elf will trade them for mimosas and brunch.when mother's all over the world leave out milk and cookies hoping a jolly elf will trade them for mimosas and brunch. The rest of the time I'm trying to keep my head above water. 

We are at the point of our children's lives when Miss Five is now old enough to realize that there are some things more powerful than Mama and the Mr.   What a shocking revelation this was for her and for the dynamics of our family.   "But why can't you fix it Mama?  Why can't you make it all better?"  How hard to explain that no matter how big a mama's love is, there are some things that are bigger than mama.  For a few days there were a lot of questions that seemed to be focused on shoring up her belief that she was safe.   Finally we hit on the idea that no matter how big something is, if Mama can't change it, she can be right beside you and holding your hand; loving you.   We have begun saying goodnight with "Love is the most powerful thing, and I love you a lot!"

Being a mother has made me very, very humble.  It's hard to take yourself too seriously or rest too contentedly on your laurels when your child is always growing and changing.   The risks and dangers can change overnight.   Today I told the story of how my child poked herself in the eye with scissors at age two.  (*Spoiler:  She is fine and her eye was not damaged.)   However, at the time, I made the 911 call in hysterics.  I waited for the response team in panic.  I held on the line with the nice dispatcher while my, now calm, daughter kept repeating "I poked scissors in ma eye.  No touch it." into the open line.   Living in a small town, the response team is comprised of your next door neighbors, friends of your parents, and perhaps the woman who assisted your mother in child-birth.  You are going to see these people again.  Frequently.  For months, I would run into one of them and have to go through the embarrassment of reliving that night, complete with "…and the funniest part of the whole call was Miss Five saying '…poke scissors in ma eye…' ".  

We moved not long after that. 

There is nothing like watching your child get hurt that shakes your faith in yourself as guardian and protector.  I used to think it was just my own uncertain brain that had this thought.  Then I started to spend more time with other mamas.  Film-makers have nothing on the real-life slow motion effect that is a mother trying to get to her child when an injury is imminent.    Mamas are superwomen without visible capes.  And their superpower?  The ability to soothe away pain and fear with kisses and crooning, hugs and gentle pats.  Today I watched one of the best mothers I know face this reality.  She still doesn't know the grace she had under pressure, although I hope she has since forgiven herself.   I watched her heart break for her child, but I also watched the child melt into her mother, find comfort in her embrace and find faith that the world was safe again in mama's arms.  This is all the child will remember.

So to all my mama friends out there…You are fabulous.  You are amazing.  You are doing an impossible job with grace and courage every day that you get up and simply love your child, try to keep them safe, and show them your humanity.  Never doubt for a moment that you are the superhero your child thinks you are.

Love to you and your families!  Happy Mother's Day!