The World's Worst Mother

One of my nieces posted on Facebook that she is afraid she is "the World's Worst Mother."
Ha!  Don't give yourself so much credit!  I'm sure I had that title long before you did.


Every mother is the world's worst or the world's best, not by any objective standard, but by the moods and whims of her children.  This is particularly true when the children are teens, which her children are currently.


I have the distinction of having been reported for child abuse of which I was not guilty.  Lucky for me, the child involved went to the police who verified there were no marks indicating the abuse the child claimed.  Therefore, when that child the next week went to social services, which has to investigate everything reported, there was credible evidence in my favor.  This whole situation, however, filled me with terror.  Eventually I was cleared and all record of the accusation supposedly "expunged," but the anxiety of the experience is easy to recall.


We mothers have to set a standard for conduct.  Some children are going to be compliant and not rock the boat.  Others are going to take every opportunity to try to sink it.  We wouldn't feel so awful about this if we didn't love them so.


I used to tell the non-compliant ones, "I am standing next to the highway jumping up and down and screaming that the bridge is out ahead.  You are ignoring my warnings and zooming by with the accelerator all the way to the floor."  What is a mother to do when she sees disaster looming?  Is she suppose to stand idly by?  No, I say keep jumping up and down!  Maybe...just maybe...they will eventually get the picture before they go crashing over the cliff.


Here's a little secret.  If they do go crashing off the cliff and end up in pieces in the ravine, guess who they are going to call for help?  Be prepared to keep loving them and trying to help them patch up their lives.  Maybe someday they will understand that you are among THE BEST.

Dumb or Smart?

The question of the day is whether I am dumb for getting myself in a jam, or smart for getting myself out of it.


I took a break from the sorting and packing in preparation for moving and ran out for a few groceries.  After shopping I placed the groceries in the cargo area of my station wagon, slammed down the door, and came to the sickening realization that the car keys were now locked inside the car.  I had placed them on the edge of the trunk area while loading the groceries.  Although the remote control that opens the door electronically was the item on the key ring that was wedged in the door, there had not been a direct hit on the button which makes the horn sound incessantly.  That was the good news.  A resounding horn would have attracted attention to my bone-headed maneuver.  It also meant that although the door was locked and I could not open it, the thickness of the remote was creating somewhat of a gap.


After calling my husband to come with his set of keys, I decided to use the wait productively.  The keys were tantalizingly visible through the gap.  First I inserted a pen to try and fish them out.  No luck.  Then I remembered that I usually have a small screwdriver in my purse.  I wiggled the screw driver in and tried moving the keys into various positions, hoping that I could snag a key and somehow pull the whole thing out.  Several minutes of this proved futile.


Eventually I realized that I could pull the car key itself completely outside the door.  I then used the screwdriver to open up the ring that was holding it.  I could not grasp the entire ring since a good portion of it was under the door, but once I had it spread open, I was able to get a good enough grip to twist it until the key was free of the ring.


I opened the trunk and the car door and called my husband to cancel his emergency run.


I have no idea if anyone was watching me do all this.  I suppose it was amusing if some man was sitting in the car waiting for his grocery-shopping wife.  Glad to provide some entertainment.


I suppose I could spiritualize this experience and say how grateful I am that God allowed the gap in the door and enabled me to solve this.  I am indeed grateful for all the ways in which God watches out for me.  But, I keep coming back to the question:  Was I dumb to get into this mess or smart to get out of it?  I'm thinking both.

Dirty Little Work Gloves

Today I steeled myself against sentiment and threw out a pair of dirty little work gloves.


When my son was a little guy, he loved to be outside and "help" his Dad stack wood.  He observed that his Dad had a pair of work gloves that he used when engaging in this task.  So, one day he said to me, "Mom, I need a pair of dirty little work gloves."


I replied, "I can get you a pair of little work gloves, but you will have to get them dirty yourself."


He gave me a puzzled expression, but didn't ask any questions.


I found the smallest child size gloves that I could, but he was only 5 or 6 at the time, and they were a bit too large.  No matter...he was very pleased and proud of his work gloves and put them to use many times as he grew into them.


They laid around in his room long after he outgrew them and were, of course, left behind when he went to college.  The imminent move to a  smaller home is forcing me to make decisions about all sorts of things that have been cluttering up the place for years.  Today I finished removing the last of his belongings from his room.  Everything is either in storage for him or discarded or in the rummage sale heap.


I paused holding the gloves, knowing I should toss them out, but thinking about the hours of activity with his Dad that put the dirt in those little gloves.  It is the dirt that makes them valuable to me.  A pair of work gloves as pristine as the day they were purchased would have no meaning.


The work of daily life may get us dirty and leave us ragged, but that is what makes life valuable and meaningful.  

The Joys of Being Forgetful

Tonight for supper we had breaded pork chops, baked red potatoes and yellow beans.  I thought that the mixed berry applesauce I happened to have on hand would complement this nicely.
My husband looked at it and said, "Is this applesauce?"
Then before I had a chance to respond, he tasted it and said, "Oooo...that's good."
About 5 weeks ago, I also served this type of applesauce.  On that occasion, my husband said, "Is this applesauce?  Oooo...that's good."
He has no recollection of this prior and identical conversation.  When I attempted to remind him, he responded, "Well, there's an advantage of being forgetful!  You can be pleasantly surprised twice."
So perhaps I have discovered a test for early dementia.  I will wait five weeks, serve mixed berry applesauce again, and if we have this conversation a third time, I will be genuinely worried.  In the meantime, I will enjoy the fact that his taste buds were delighted with a "new" flavor twice.

Between a Hard Place and the Rock

A Hard Place...
...rends my heart
...fills my mind
...crushes my spirit.


So, I...
...run to the refuge of
...flee to the shadow of
...crawl to the shelter of


The Rock.

Lessons from the Antique Trunk

I don't even know where it came from.  I think it somehow wandered over to our basement from my parents' basement.  Probably it belonged to some grandparent or great-aunt,  but I don't know who.  Today I had my husband haul a truly dirty old trunk out of our basement into the sunlight of the backyard.  The layer of dust and dirt was such that until a first washing, I wasn't even sure what it was made of.  


So, now I know.  It is wooden, covered in canvas.  The canvas is actually in excellent condition.  It is all in tact and in place, except for a little bit that is on the fold over to the inside of the trunk.  The wooden strips on the outside look like a little sanding and refinishing will make them good as new.  But, the leather straps are either missing or in a state of total disintegration. The metal fittings are rusted and corroded and in need of serious work.


A search on the internet yielded the suggestion that the inside would be covered in paper, and that this could be replaced with wallpaper.  I thought that since I had no intention of storing anything in it, I would skip any interior work.  After all, I am only planning to use it as an end table or possibly a TV stand.  Then I looked inside.  Oh, yuk.  I'm not sure what was growing in there, but it was gross. 


After the external cursory cleaning, I decided to tackle the inside.  I dampened the paper and began scraping.   Two hours later, I was totally exhausted.  The day is warm.  Working inside a trunk requires some bodily contortions, and I began to wonder just how long it is safe for a 65 year old to stand on her head.  I tipped the trunk on its end so that I could sit down to work.  I sat in a puddle created by the earlier washing.  Now, in addition to being soaked with perspiration, I felt like I had wet my pants.  When that cramp in my hip started, I knew it was time to quit.


Here's where one of the personality quirks I sometimes dislike about myself kicks in.  When I start a project, I am pretty much obsessed.  I push things through to completion sometimes, when it is really quite unreasonable to do so. I have hung the last strip of wallpaper in a room at a point where I was shaking so with exhaustion, that I was worried about falling off the ladder.  Not smart.  In any event, I ignored the leg cramp.  A cold can of Dr. Pepper rejuvenated me enough to adjust my position and push on.  The thing is, that I wanted to get enough of the paper off, so that I could let the inside dry out.  Then, the next time I work on it, I won't have to dampen it again, I can just use sandpaper.


So, by the time, I was satisfied, I was shaking and more or less staggered into the house.  Now I have showered and sit in my nice cool living room with a cold drink.


What have I learned?
That removing exterior dirt gives one some perspective.
But, that things may be worse on the inside than they appear on the outside.
That I can still exert considerable effort in a ridiculous position without having a stroke.
That I really do like Dr. Pepper.
That I will probably go to my grave without learning to pace myself.

If Mel Gibson was smart....

A long time ago, I knew a couple who experienced a terrible personal tragedy.  The wife was a positive person with faith that carried her through.  The husband, however, plunged off the edge of reason into an abyss of despair, alcohol and gambling.  He was a brilliant man, a lawyer in a DA's office in a major metropolitan area, but he was not brilliant at cards when he was also drunk.  So, on top of the tragedy was a mountain of debt.  He tried to make up for the debt with some illegal actions and ended up being disbarred.


Most wives would have bailed out.  I am not privy to exactly what went on between them that kept them together.  But, as an outside observer, it was clear that a deal had been struck in which she called all the shots and controlled all the money.  The rest of his life, he received an allowance.  On one occasion when plans were being made, he said to me with a shrug, "I do what I am told."  


Eventually, he became a much respected college professor, but she continued to determine the course of their lives.  At one point, it was clear that she even told him what to wear.  If he ever argued with her about anything, it wasn't obvious.


Mel Gibson needs to beg his wife to take him back.  He needs to become completely accountable to her.  He clearly cannot run his own life.  He needs someone to be his "keeper."  He may have sufficient money to hire someone for this role, but that would not be effective.  He could fire the person anytime he chose to do so.  Besides, he would be vulnerable to anyone unscrupulous.  In fact, he probably has already been vulnerable to someone unscrupulous.


I have no idea what he and his wife are really like.  But, if there is any chance that she still loves him, or could still call forth loving actions toward him, he needs her.  He may be so far off the path into the deep woods, that he won't be able to find his way back on his own.


If Mel Gibson is smart, and can stay sober long enough to use reason, he will reconcile with his wife and allow her to become his "keeper."  He will consult her on all financial decisions and agree that she has veto over anything  and everything in his life.