As I prepared for my Mom's Christmas visit with a "mother clean and paint," it was my annual opportunity to show her that I was indeed a 44-year old grown-up. I would take care of her, dig out my best casserole dishes for home-cooked meals and ensure beds were made with clean linens and my "Oprah" magazine, a scented candle and empty hangers awaiting my favorite guest. "I can stand on my own two feet," the house would say as 20 bags of raked leaves, my hyacinth bathroom walls, a "Welcome Grammy" sign and Weight Watchers home-made soup greeted her, reflecting my stealth ability to take care of my yard, my house, my daughter and overall health and well-being. I would be a finished product this Christmas, arriving as many of my gifts did at the last minute. And, still scrubbing the final globs of dried paint from my arms.
My bleached, dusted, and semi-glossed life with a fresh pine and holly centerpiece, though, showed signs of wreakage, first evident as Mom tasted my soup, reporting barley that tasted like oatmeal and needed a bit more tenderizing in the crockpot. Staying a step ahead, I explained the missing shower rod, quickly shifting focus to the new brackets I would install following a failed screwdriver attempt with the impacted 50 year-old painted over screws from my not-so-extreme bathroom makeover. "Call Greg. He'll have a drill, " Mom said, suggesting an abdication of my together life to the brother-in-law who also installed my shades and AC window unit, helped negotiate my refinance and, with my sister, programmed my stereo remote when I was not yet so self-sufficient (or senselessly prideful).
I could be defensive, I thought, justifying that the barley was supposed to be chewy and committing to another vein attempt to dislodge the screws and my shoulder from its socket in the morning. Or, I could be open and "graciously receive" despite my desire to help Mom rest in peace someday knowing I have a matching valance and cafe curtain to hide my peeing in the morning. The choice was obvious; I humbled myself to cook our pancakes longer when Mom said they could "stand to be a little browner" and accept her loving guidance and help.
"I'll buy your groceries," Mom said, opening the door to the "5 for the price of 1" Pure Softness tissue special and a second turkey loin that would prepare us for a season of colds and weeks of money saving leftovers beyond just our intended Christmas meal and her brief visit. My cart and heart filled as I agreed to peanut butter and coffee for a rainy day. My sister also surprised me with a pulsating shower nozzle after my Chinese Water torture model confessed further evidence of my subconscious cry for help, failing to rinse her conditioner and give her a pep in her step following a long trip from Delaware.
The seasonal unwrapping and unraveling continued as we capped off the "I am a grown-up" visit with an offer to take my family to dinner. As Mom folded the last pieces of laundry before we departed, we heard a scream. "It's a dead mouse!" she exclaimed. Picking up the final remnants from the dryer, the apparent lint ball was a cooked mouse who made a fatal attempt to come in from the cold. Tail between my legs (and in the mouse's case, on the laundry room floor), we could do nothing but nervously laugh and, of course, humanely dispose of the mouse's remains.
I am an unfinished product, much like the unfinished furniture my Dad stained and made beautiful for sentimental gifts that proudly state "Love, Dad." I have people who love, finish and help me shine when I allow myself to graciously receive. They also accept me along the way - chewy barley, mice, warts and all - and I will do the same for them. Their efforts bear their signature -"Love, Mom; "Love, Lisa" (the list goes on) - and loving impression on my life. They make me better.
P.S. Mom, I will work on rinsing milk glasses and bowls of pancake batter to make life easier. I am not sure how I will remedy the longstanding towel issue. More to come next year! Thanks for the wonderful "Mother Love"! I love you.
My bleached, dusted, and semi-glossed life with a fresh pine and holly centerpiece, though, showed signs of wreakage, first evident as Mom tasted my soup, reporting barley that tasted like oatmeal and needed a bit more tenderizing in the crockpot. Staying a step ahead, I explained the missing shower rod, quickly shifting focus to the new brackets I would install following a failed screwdriver attempt with the impacted 50 year-old painted over screws from my not-so-extreme bathroom makeover. "Call Greg. He'll have a drill, " Mom said, suggesting an abdication of my together life to the brother-in-law who also installed my shades and AC window unit, helped negotiate my refinance and, with my sister, programmed my stereo remote when I was not yet so self-sufficient (or senselessly prideful).
I could be defensive, I thought, justifying that the barley was supposed to be chewy and committing to another vein attempt to dislodge the screws and my shoulder from its socket in the morning. Or, I could be open and "graciously receive" despite my desire to help Mom rest in peace someday knowing I have a matching valance and cafe curtain to hide my peeing in the morning. The choice was obvious; I humbled myself to cook our pancakes longer when Mom said they could "stand to be a little browner" and accept her loving guidance and help.
"I'll buy your groceries," Mom said, opening the door to the "5 for the price of 1" Pure Softness tissue special and a second turkey loin that would prepare us for a season of colds and weeks of money saving leftovers beyond just our intended Christmas meal and her brief visit. My cart and heart filled as I agreed to peanut butter and coffee for a rainy day. My sister also surprised me with a pulsating shower nozzle after my Chinese Water torture model confessed further evidence of my subconscious cry for help, failing to rinse her conditioner and give her a pep in her step following a long trip from Delaware.
The seasonal unwrapping and unraveling continued as we capped off the "I am a grown-up" visit with an offer to take my family to dinner. As Mom folded the last pieces of laundry before we departed, we heard a scream. "It's a dead mouse!" she exclaimed. Picking up the final remnants from the dryer, the apparent lint ball was a cooked mouse who made a fatal attempt to come in from the cold. Tail between my legs (and in the mouse's case, on the laundry room floor), we could do nothing but nervously laugh and, of course, humanely dispose of the mouse's remains.
I am an unfinished product, much like the unfinished furniture my Dad stained and made beautiful for sentimental gifts that proudly state "Love, Dad." I have people who love, finish and help me shine when I allow myself to graciously receive. They also accept me along the way - chewy barley, mice, warts and all - and I will do the same for them. Their efforts bear their signature -"Love, Mom; "Love, Lisa" (the list goes on) - and loving impression on my life. They make me better.
- Where might you need to graciously receive?
- Who can leave a loving impression on your life?
P.S. Mom, I will work on rinsing milk glasses and bowls of pancake batter to make life easier. I am not sure how I will remedy the longstanding towel issue. More to come next year! Thanks for the wonderful "Mother Love"! I love you.
So true...seems like my parents think I am still 14 sometimes. Maybe I should get rid of the bunk bed...
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing!