So its not a good picture of me, but its one of the only pictures of me. There are a few family pictures, but few snapshots. Oddly, a 6 yr old doesnt take good pictures!
I was looking for pictures, I wondered how I "looked." I recently began to feel very old and frumpy, not old as in elderly. But the kind of old where I stop caring if I match, dont worry about being in Pjs all day, and wear my house shoes to the store. I worried that surely my husband wasnt pleased with this "me." I laid in bed late and worried about this.
The next morning, I was in the bathroom cleaning up excess toothpaste on the counter top. I looked up in the mirror and was surprised by what I saw. I saw my mom, as I had seen her when small. I remembered suddenly all of these things about her, the things I never even knew how to express then.
Her hair was long, but just there, never fixed. To me this meant, she never said, dont touch my hair. I could twirl it, braid it, brush it. It smelled of shampoo, nothing more. Never stiff from hairspray or gell, she never had to take time out to curl it or blow dry it. She had no makeup, I think there was some mascara in the cabinet but it probably dried out long before it was used up. Her face was just hers, her smile and bright blue eyes were more interesting to a child than perfect blush.
She wore old jeans and t shirts, nothing to mess up. She didnt worry about the baby spitting up, or us touching her while we painted. I loved the sound of her jeans, the way the legs touched when she walked. I listened to this sound at night. If I fell down in the dirt, she picked me up without worrying about dirt, blood or my smelly little kid sweat.
My mom never used perfume, she used plain ivory soap. She smelled of soap, and mommy. Never of anything stuffy or dressy. Even in her church clothes she was the most approachable person I have ever known. Her voice was deep and quiet, and she was calm. She made children feel safe, and comfortable. All kinds of people wanted to be around her, and they didnt know why. Maybe it was because she laughed for real, as if she couldnt help it. With her head back and her hand on her chest, it made me feel good. When I told her something frightening to me, she would often laugh this wonderful laugh and I would know that my imagination had gotten ahead of me. She was my reality, my way to ground.
So in the mirror, I saw my long hair that has no special cut, my blue eyes with no mascara. My favorite t- shirt which is now so thin it cant be worn away from home, my old blue jeans that make that wonderful sound when I walk. My ratty brown shoes, plain shoes, nothing special. I smile at the me in the mirror, I finally see in me what I loved in her. And I laugh, I laugh with my head back and I have to hold my chest as I am laughing so hard it hurts. I laugh for the waiting, the years I waited to be her. I am her, for she is in me. But I am me because she let me be so. I laugh because I have worried for nothing! I am what a child wants and needs, I am someone cofortable for my husband to be with, someone that no one worries about messing up. I am the woman I dreamed of being. I am, exactly what I love.
2 comments:
I had never read Amanda's blog. I am not yet too computer savvy. Pause...need kleenex...I have taken the day off work, a luxury I occasionally afford myself these days. I was making cookies when I stopped to read. Wearing blue jeans and a tacky sweatshirt, the usual no make-up and the "I might want to brush my hair" look. The sweatshirt is the one with the big ugly dog on it that says "If you run with the big dogs, stay under the porch" advertising the US Army. I bought it during my 5 yrs in the army reserves. I joined at the age of 42. Crazy, I guess, but I wanted to understand better what Amanda's husband did every day. And I wanted him to think his mother-in-law was pretty neat. But back to me being home. The house is quiet. There are no children here now and I wonder why I am making the cookies. I used to worry that my children would be embarrassed by my appearance. I was so plain and simple, not pretty. There was no money for nice clothes even had I wanted them. When I had money I spent it on the kids. I loved making pretty clothes for them. Sometimes I'd lie awake in bed and "sew" in my head. I enjoyed the kids so much that I would look at the least one and think it could not possibly be the last one. One day in Walmarts, the check out clerk looked at me and asked, "Don't you know what causes this?" I was largely pregnant with the last one. I was holding a toddler and had the other 4 stairsteps with me. I took offense. I was afraid that for a moment a stranger's comment might make my children think that I didn't want them. I leaned over and assured the lady, loudly enough for the kids to hear, "Yes, I do know what causes it. That is how I managed to do it so many times!" I worried that the older ones would grow up and not want any children b/c they helped me so much with the babies. I worried that they felt poor. Guess I worried too much. But I tried to be calm, comforting, the same, always there. And now mostly there are gone off on their own. I miss the patter of little feet and the chatter of their voices more than I can explain. I wonder why I only had 6 of them. Mom
Sniffle sniffle! Makes me take a look at myself and want to worry less about what I'll look like when the kids come at me full force full of "yuck" and make me worry less about trying to be a good mom rather than just being me who I know is a good mom. Both blog and comment make me know that years from now it won't matter what I looked like that day at the park to other people who were there, it matters more to my children that I was there. Thank you so much for putting things back into perspective. I think most of us, including me, need that to make sure we're living life in a way that really matters and counts instead of living in a way where we're always worrying about what others will think.
Your friend always!
Amanda
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