Mirrors of Momness

dsc08807.JPGToday my husband and kids made me blueberry pancakes and sausage. We went to church. I got a bookmark. We spend some family time driving around looking at houses and then came home. I spent the rest of the day reading a good book in bed with few interruptions. They cleaned the house.

My husband won huge brownie points on Mother’s Day twice before. He made giant Mother’s Day cards saying what a fantastic mother I am and put our infants in them. First my daughter and then five year’s later he let her color the card and put our son in it. They were holding a box of chocolates. It was thoughtful, creative and adorable.

This year he tried to capitalize on his previous success and put the toddler in a box with some chocolates and Skittles. This would have been funny and cute if the baby wasn’t so pissed about being shut in a box.

My mother visited a few months ago and I wrote a piece about how her voice is inside my head and now my voice is in my daughter’s head. This has benefits and draw-backs. Read it in The Voice In My Head on So Sioux Me, I’m sure you can relate as a mother or a daughter.

Also, I love this poem called The Meanest Mother In The World. I gave a copy to all the young mothers I know a while back. I’ll paste it here. It makes me think of both, my mother who I resented for being so mean and myself, as I aspire to become the meanest mother in the world for my kids.

The Meanest Mother In The World
 Bobbie Pingaro

I had the meanest mother in the whole world.

While other kids ate candy for breakfast, I had to have cereal, eggs or toast.  When others had cokes and candy for lunch, I had to eat a sandwich. As you can guess, my supper was different than the other kids’ also.But at least, I wasn’t alone in my sufferings.

My sister and two brothers had the same mean mother as I did.My mother insisted upon knowing where we were at all times. She had to know who our friends were and where we were going. She insisted if we said we’d be gone an hour, that we be gone one hour or less–not one hour and one minute. The worst is yet to come. W

e had to be in bed by nine each night and up at eight the next morning. We couldn’t sleep till noon like our friends. So while they slept-my mother actually had the nerve to break the child-labor law. She made us work. We had to wash dishes, make beds, learn to cook and all sorts of cruel things. I believe she laid awake at night thinking up mean things to do to us.

By the time we were teen-agers, she was much wiser, and our life became even more unbearable. None of this tooting the horn of a car for us to come running. She embarrassed us to no end by making our dates and friends come to the door to get us. If I spent the night with a girlfriend, can you imagine she checked on me to see if I were really there. I forgot to mention, while my friends were dating at the mature age of 12 and 13, my old fashioned mother refused to let me date until the age of 15 and 16. Fifteen, that is, if you dated only to go to a school function. And that was maybe twice a year.

Through the years, things didn’t improve a bit. Our marks in school had to be up to par. My mother being as different as she was, would settle for nothing less than great grades.As the years rolled by, first one and then the other of us was put to shame. We were graduated from high school. With our mother behind us, talking, hitting and demanding respect, none of us was allowed the pleasure of being a drop-out.

My mother was a complete failure as a mother. Out of four children, a couple of us attained some higher education. None of us have ever been arrested, divorced or beaten his mate. And whom do we have to blame for the terrible way we turned out? You’re right, our mean mother She forced us to grow up into God-fearing, educated, honest adults.Using this as a background, I am trying to raise my three children.  I stand a little taller and I am filled with pride when my children call me mean.  Because, you see, I thank God, He gave me the meanest mother in the whole world.