And quite possibly again, and again, “this is the recipe of life said my mother, as she held me in her arms as I wept, think of those flowers you plant in the garden each year, they will teach you that people too must wilt, fall, root, rise in order to bloom,” writes rupi kaur (lower case is her preference).
The neighborhood where I grew up was cloistered, it was mid-week, a day when none of the moms on Strawberry Park Drive had access to a car. Bottles of fresh milk appeared on the porches before dawn, along with neatly folded newspapers on the driveway, the men drove off at eight, and the mail arrived by noon. These daily occurrences were as predictable as the sun, except on Sunday, when God almighty commanded a day of rest for the milkmen, Daddy’s, and postal carriers.
Aside from Friday morning, when my Mom got up early to drive my Dad to work, the women were stranded, as if imprisoned on a remote island, with an indoctrinated fear of the water. Change was on the horizon, but as we know the process is painfully slow, especially when fear is involved.
Late Wednesday morning, as the women were gathering at Betty’s house for coffee, Renee (my BFF) and I hatched an ambitious plan. We wanted to stay at my house, without the troublesome Christine, a spoiled three year old, whose greatest failing in life was an annoying mother. And the fact she cut the hair off my favorite doll last month, when I was in the bathroom, and then hid the evidence under my bed. Children can be ruthless.
Like many five year olds, Renee and I were astute observers, it didn’t get past us how our own mother’s subtly avoided this pair, shifting dance classes, and bunco groups so their paths wouldn’t cross.
This morning, as we watched Christine skipping alongside her mother, heading to the neighborhood coffee, we literally begged for a reprieve, “can we please stay here and play with our dolls?” The need for community must have been strong, as the coffee was getting underway, they gave us a pardon.
Adorned in their cast off heels, fancy slips, and clutch purses we lied to our mothers, promising to behave, with no intention of doing so. I believe this adequately sums up the intangible intention of ones entire life. If coloring outside the lines is forbidden what else can you do?
Our sense of purpose was still developing, but we knew how to fake it, because we watched our moms cram themselves in these tight suburban boxes, with few real diversions. This shared reality was about to explode from internal pressure, I call it the human emetic, one that arcs across the world.
“Motherhood has a very humanizing effect. Everything gets reduced to essentials.” Meryl Streep
With the tasty medicine in hand we divvied up the spoils, ingesting the soft pink tablets one by one, as if knowingly numbing ourselves to the very experience we were trying to emulate.
When our mothers returned from coffee they were horrified to find an empty bottle of children’s aspirin laying on the bedroom floor. They searched our purses, questioning us as they hunted in drawers, under the bed, in our pockets for the missing pills. I remember the look of concern etched on their young faces, their voices beseeching us to tell some version of the truth, anything to alleviate their guilt.
As if a practiced gymnasts, attempting a difficult landing, we stuck our story, “the babies ate the pills,” which was true, they were just looking at the wrong ones.
When I think back to the times I left my offspring unheeded, I cringe, aware that luck was on my side, with a few notable exceptions…
Not two decades later, the phone became a direct line to my sanity, but unfortunately it was connected to the wall by a rather short cord. (It wasn’t my finest moment, but I have been known to toss a handful of chocolate chips across the kitchen floor, allowing me five more minutes of phone time, as the children scampered for the tasty treats.)
At the time, we lived in Kansas, deeply nestled in the quaint suburbs of Overland Park. The neighbors would have been appalled with this rather uncouth tactic so let’s just keep that tidbit to ourselves.
Our homes were these huge mausoleums, entombing the occupants, due to unsuitable weather conditions that persisted throughout much of the year. I now understood how isolated my mother must have felt all those years ago. My girls, three and two years old, were playing quietly in the basement playroom (for alert parents quiet is like a siren), but I intentionally ignored the alarm, in lieu of the phone.
Unbeknownst to me my older daughter had filled her sister’s sippy cup with wallpaper remover from a bright red bottle which I regrettably left out. After an enjoyable chat with my sister I called the girls up for a treat. Kelley looked a bit green, which gave me pause, but I cheerfully handed her a popsicle, hoping it would pass.
This is when she projectile vomited across the room, simular to that of Linda Blair in The Exorcist, which certainly got my attention.
In a complete panic, I called poison control, half expecting my children to become wards of the state. Clearly I was an unfit mother, but they informed me that wallpaper remover was simular to dishwashing liquid, not lethal, and since she already threw-up there was nothing more to do. They suggested I store the remover in a safer place. If only I could store all the dangers on a higher shelf?
“Motherhood is the strangest thing, it can be like being one’s own Trojan horse.” Rebecca West
Helen whispers to my panicked mother, “I have ipecac at the house,” carrying us in their arms, they ran towards something that promised to reverse this insidious situation. Wise were these women, Helen took me into one bathroom, and my mom took Renee in the other, as one never listens her own mother.
Apparently my Mom was able to convince Renee to take the medicine straight away, she came bolting down the hall like a true friend should, screaming, “don’t take it, don’t take it, it will make you sick.” Indeed it did as our dear mother’s heroically drew the poison out of us.
Working in or out of the home is irrelevant, we have more choices today, but raising children remains wonderful in theory, difficult in reality, impossible to perfect. It forced me into the role of caregiver, fierce protector, warrior, healer, sage, but most importantly one who loves unconditionally. Once a woman’s heart is activated in this way it is impossible to reverse, these roles expand, taking in the needs of not only their communities, but that of the world.
The solution I’m in search of is not ipecac, or baby aspirin, but empathy for a world in the throws of labor, pushing heroically towards something yet to be born. As rupi kaur so beautifully pens, “The necessity to protect you overcame me, i love you too much to remain quiet as you weep, watch me rise to kiss the poison out of you, i will resist the temptation of my tired feet, and keep marching with tomorrow in one hand, and a fist in the other, i will carry you to freedom – love letter to the world.”
I’m Living in the Gap, desperate for company, drop in anytime.
Notes to self: If need be you can wash dishes, remove bugs from the grill of the car, and erase temporary tattoos with wall paper remover. Who knew?
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\”…raising children remains wonderful in theory, difficult in reality, impossible to perfect. It forced me into the role of caregiver, fierce protector, warrior, healer, sage, but most importantly one who loves unconditionally.\” I loved this line! What a wonderful way to describe motherhood!
Thank you Wendy! I appreciate you dropping by Living in the Gap and taking the time to comment! It seems we have motherhood in common as I wandered over to your blog and snooped around! Please check out Wendy's work @ http://www.theartofwhynot.com/ when you have some time!
What a poignant memory and well told! I enjoyed this, Cheryl! We mothers are sisters in a sacred sisterhood that only we who have lived it can fully understand and cherish!
What a deeply troubling and yet strangely engaging story Cheryl – I do hope that there was a lesson or two in there for all of us. Life is short and it's awful to think how easily it can be made even shorter. Checking in on each other and being supportive is so important isn't it? Thanks so much for sharing your post with us on #MLSTL – I've shared it on my social media. I hope you get to meet some new bloggers as you comment and share on the other party guests' posts.
Wow. Writers like you make me realize that I am a doer and not a writer. I was riveted. And I held my breath. And I remembered my twenty year old attempts at mothering. And I thank the Lord for allowing us all to live through it.gwingal
Motherhood is certainly a roller coaster ride isn't it and what a story you have shared with us! Thank you for linking up at our very first Midlife Share the Love party and hope to see you next week #MSTL
I love reading your words… put together as a master painter would create an image… thank you for sharing your insight, remembrances, talent with us. Like Wendy, your description of raising a child went straight to my heart. Yes! Love you bunches and always fellow child raiser (and now grammie).
Thank you Susan, I believe I love reading your words as much as you enjoy mine! I stumbled upon rupi kaur's work through my daughter Kelley, who has attended her poetry readings in the city. She is quite a talent. When I read the words \”kiss the poison out of you\” I couldn't help but remember the baby aspirin incidence, which of course reminded me of my own \”poisoning.\” I was hoping the message of strong loving moms wiggled through the stories but each reader will travel their own way. Love you so very much.
Thank you Linda! I totally agree about the sisterhood and it's sacredness. I believe it was all those \”sister\” moms who pulled each other through those difficult days and of course celebrated the joyful ones. I marvel at the speed at which the time has passed since I had little ones at home. I must say this new stage of Grammie is just as magical. Love your blog! Anyone interested should check out Linda's work at: http://friendsoverfiftyguidetolife.com/
Thanks for your comments Leanne! I agree, embedded in these difficult memories I hope a message came through, one of compassion and support. Our roles as women have undergone drastic changes in a short time, necessary changes, but disorienting nonetheless. I love being a mother but it is a job impossible to do on ones own, we need each other at all stages of life, but especially when raising our young. I was hoping for connection and compassion. Thank you for sharing my work. I have enjoyed reading through the work of many bloggers, leaving comments, and sharing their work. Love your blog! Check out Leanne's work at: http://www.crestingthehill.com.au/
ps. I have shared your wonderful writing.
Thank you Nikki! I'm overjoyed to have \”riveted\” your interest and resurrected a few of your own memories. Motherhood is such a time of growth and development for both the mother and child. I love how our stories draw us together and bring about connection. That's what it's all about. Please check out Nikki's work at: https://plus.google.com/112111619746368588089
Thank you Sue for reading and taking the time to comment. A roller coaster is certainly a wonderful image of motherhood. I have enjoyed exploring and sharing the work of fellow bloggers at the link up! I would love to participate again. I post weekly so a new piece should coincide with your link up! Please check out Sue's work at:https://plus.google.com/109530497148588810491
Raising children is the hardest job in the world. My son ate a whole bottle of baby aspirin and like your mother was home with no car. I called the local pharmacy and they brought a bottle of ipecac to me. As you all did my son had moved things to climb up to the top of the cabinet. I was a very young mother and the guilt was terrible.
I loved your story Cheryl! Motherhood is fraught with peril. We can try, but nobody ever perfects it!
I think it is amazing Victoria that our stories connect in such a way as to bring understanding and compassion to the artful job of mothering. That memory surfaced when I read rupi's poem which then triggered the memory with my girls. I loved the line in her poem \”watch me rise to kiss the poison out of you,\” and that is what you did with your son! Thank you for stopping by Living in the Gap and taking the time to share a memory! Come back again soon because now our hearts are connected!
Thank you Michele for reading and responding. Motherhood has to be one of the most satisfying occupations but one that will change you forever! In the best of ways. I learned how to be both flexible and resilient for sure. I checked out your blog – Wow! I can not believe the courage it must have taken to make sure a dramatic life change? If interested please check out Michele's work at: http://liferedesign101.com/blog-archive/
I love how honest you are about raising kids. A lot of mom blogs these days glorify it and pretend everything is perfect, but it's refreshing to read about a real person
Thank you Melanie, Motherhood is wonderful but far from glamorous. I appreciate your comment as I was unsure about how this post would be received. As a writer I always have a message in mind but often readers find their own meaning. Please check out Melanie’s blog at: http://partnersinfire.com
Great post! I am not a mother but I agree, it is definitely refreshing to read about real life and real experiences!
Thanks Sarah! I appreciate you dropping by and taking the time to comment. Sometimes the truth is not so appealing and clean, it fumbles, falls, and vacillates between reality and interpretation. We march on.. Please stop by Sarah's site for an enjoyable read: http://theoldenchapters.com/
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