My mother’s legacy lives on mostly in my memory and in a large collection of papers and photographs I rescued when my father’s estate was broken up and the family home sold in 1995. Among those papers, in the back of a file cabinet with copies of income tax forms and correspondence relating to university governance, was the manuscript of an unfinished novel, “The Club for Women”, which my mother painstakingly typed out on onionskin, with carbons, in the early 1950’s. If she were a known author or someone in whom the world at large had an interest, this unique document would be the subject of intense conservation efforts, and perhaps a definitive edition bearing the imprime of a prestigious university press. If an established academic or celebrity writer determined this manuscript was worth showcasing, it would likewise achieve prominence.

It is not the intrinsic quality of an achievement of this nature which makes it valuable, but the marketing of it. My mother wrote beautifully. The book itself describes eloquently the position of an ambitious female academic who achieved a certain amount in her field during the Second World War, only to be sidelined in the early 1950’s. It’s a common tragedy of professional women in her generation, both for the women themselves and for the loss to society of contributions they night have made had they been allowed to continue, especially if society had been a little more open to women combining career and families.

This story becomes my story as well. I cannot say I remember my mother working on this manuscript, though I remember her typing away in the room she and my father used as a study, expecting a kindergartner to be able to amuse herself for long periods of time. I do remember her being an angry, bitter woman, jealous of my father whose career the university nurtured, resentful of being a housewife, and contemptuous of the mothers of friends who were more comfortable in their roles.

1949 -Mother with author as babe in arms.

The novel is not particularly fictitious. Perhaps none of it is. It describes my mother’s experience as a graduate student at Yale in the 1940’s. Many of the episodes and characters were stories she told me as a child, along with reminiscences of growing up in a working class immigrant family in New York City in the 1920’s and early 1930’s.

In my mother’s words “General idea: The novel is supposed to illuminate the personality problems resulting from the conflict between intellectual interests and the sex drive in ‘modern woman’. The action does not propose a solution to the conflict. Rather it is meant to suggest that current social patterns, which decree that a woman may achieve prestige in her field, but almost invariably at the expense of a normal emotional life, make such conflict anthropologically inevitable.” At the time the Kinsey Report had just come out and sex drive was prominent on everyone’s radar.

My own recollections flesh out the story, adding the circumstances under which the book was written and the family dynamic which shaped my character as a very bright girl growing up in America in the 1950’s. My mother was determined that I should succeed brilliantly in the academic environment where she had very nearly succeeded, and pushed me into a scientific career as one offering more prestige and better job prospects than literature. In a typical family at the time my brother’s future career would have taken precedence, but he was not academically gifted and my father was less determined that his children make their mark on the world than my mother was.

I believe the whole narrative, including the novel my mother wrote and my own reminiscences, do have value, and to that end am creating a digital copy of The Club for Women and hoping to distribute it somehow together with my own reminiscences of childhood, so that they are not lost to posterity. This task occupies me as I sit at home conscious of my own mortality, quarantined due to an epidemic which purports to be particularly dangerous to old people like me, and knowing that all I bequeath to the next generation in terms of stories and the lessons to be learned from them had best be consigned to paper, because my memory will perish with me and purely electronic resources are also ephemeral.

Photo Credits
Photos are courtesy of Martha Sherwood – All Rights Reserved
The photographs are from my family album, possibly taken by my father John Sherwood.

This year, Mother’s Day falls on Sunday, May 14th. What many people aren’t aware of is this is the American version of a worldwide holiday, but not necessarily when most of the world celebrates it. Many other countries actually celebrate Mothering Sunday, which always falls three weeks before Easter on the 4th Sunday of Lent. This tradition began centuries ago when grown children were known to go visit their mothers during the Lenten season to honor them and pay respect.

In the 1860’s, the tradition we know as Mother’s Day started taking root in America, but with a slightly different meaning. It began as a movement called Mother’s Friendship Day. It was designed for mothers of both Union and Confederate soldiers to come together and pray for peace and reconciliation. In 1870, the “Mother’s Day Proclamation” was written to unite women and promote peace, honor mothers who were having to send their sons off to war, and protest having to send them at all. Taking a slightly feminist perspective, this further developed into an officially recognized holiday specifically dedicated to women in a largely patriarchal society. Now known as a day to honor mothers and thank them for all they do for our families, Mother’s Day always falls in May, after the Easter season. Step-Mothers and Grandmothers are also largely celebrated on this day and recognized for their significant roles in the family.

Historically, Mother’s Day has been commemorated with flowers, whether a simple bouquet picked fresh from the garden, an elaborate arrangement from a florist, or an elegant corsage designed with love. Flowers are still the most given gift on Mother’s Day, although other traditional favorites include candles, chocolates, and champagne.

Some more trendy gifts and tokens have emerged in recent years. These can include anything from sentimental homemade presents to gift certificates to planned outings together. Mothers may appreciate a handmade family scrapbook, or a homemade coupon book for chores around the house. Others may enjoy time spent together, whether it is brunch prepared at home with the family, planting a garden together, or going for a picnic. For others, going on a shopping trip or having spa time together may be more their style. And although they may not admit it, many may actually enjoy a day of peace and tranquility by themselves. The ideas are as original as the mothers in our lives.

Whether you select a more traditional or unique gift, be sure to choose the one that most reflects your mother’s interests or hobbies. Better yet, treat her to something you know she would love to have but wouldn’t get for herself. Choose something to honor her and all she means to you, reflective of the true meaning of the holiday. Whether it’s a tangible present or the gift of time with you, do something to show your mom just how much she is loved and appreciated. After all, we know she has more than earned it.

Photo Credits

All photos from Shuterstock

Guest Author Bio
Amy Williams
Amy Williams is a free-lance journalist based in Southern California and mother of two. As a parent, she enjoys spreading the word on positive parenting techniques in the digital age and raising awareness on issues like cyberbullying and online safety

Breakfast in Bed

I couldn’t make this list without covering the basics, and there’s a reason breakfast in bed is such a treat for moms across the nation each Mother’s Day. If you’re in the same town as your mom or still living in the same house, this is an easy way to shower her with the attention she deserves right off the bat. Wake up early and put together her favorite foods, telling her to stay in bed and wait for your service should she wake up before you’re done. If you’re not a kitchen connoisseur, run out early and grab her favorite breakfast from a local spot and bring it back, but make sure to re-plate it for an added bit of elegance. Arrange her meal on a breakfast tray and take it in for a wake up surprise she won’t see coming.

A Desk Delivery

If your mom works long hours at the office, help turn around a stressful week with a surprise delivery of fresh, chocolate dipped berries straight to her desk at work. Most people go with flowers, but in my experience, a sweet treat (especially one that contains chocolate) is sure to be received with great joy. A surprise delivery will make even the most frustrating of days feel like a delight, and whether she shares or not with her colleagues is up to her. If you live in the same town and can take a long lunch, head over to her office to pick her up for lunch on you. Think of all the times she made sure you had a few dollars for a school hot lunch or packed a lunchbox for you filled with your favorites; it’s high time you returned the favor. If you can’t make it, or live elsewhere, send her favorite meal right to her desk with Grubhub.

Some Pampering Time

Help her take a load off by planning a day of pampering. You can become her personal massage therapist and manicurist, or shell out some money to send her to the professionals. If you decide to go the DIY spa at-home route, make sure you set the atmosphere. Put on some calming music (playlist hint: it must be a cardinal rule of motherhood that moms are predisposed to liking Enya, strange but true) and gather all the materials you need to primp the day away with your mom.

Quality Time Together

Ask any mom what she’d like for Mother’s Day, and she’s apt to say “time with my family”. You can’t substitute quality time together, and if you have siblings, make sure you all do everything you can to be in the same place and same time to spend at least a few hours of family togetherness time on this special day. You can have everyone prepare a sweet speech or favorite memory to share with the crew. This public appreciation of personal memories with your mom is sure to have a tear forming in her eye, and will definitely become one of her favorite Mother’s Day experiences.

Learn Something New

Mom has always been your favorite teacher, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be the student too. Take a class together and learn something new this Mother’s Day. You could take part in a one-time paint and wine night session, or go all in and book the both of you for a few weeks of a sculpting course. She’ll adore the time the two of you are able to spend together, and you’ll both come away from the experience with a new set of skills.

Make sure your mom is treated like royalty this May and make sure her Mother’s Day celebration is one to remember by honoring her love and lifelong efforts with some picture perfect surprises.

Photo Credits

Photos are pixabay public domain

Guest Author Bio
Hank McKinsey

When my wife and I purchased our home in the Spring of  2013, I became a stay-at-home-dad to our two wonderful and wacky Malteses – Digit and Poppy.  Hailing from Western Pennsylvania and currently residing in Central California, my hobbies include golf, tennis, jazz music, and eating.

While journalism was my college minor, crafting and DIY have always been my creative outlets. So sit back, pour up a drink, and let’s make something together!

Follow Hank: Twitter

Visit Hank’s website: Home By Hank

“Rhododendron” from the Himalayan Mountains in Nepal

As I sit and stare at this blank sheet of paper, I often wonder what our story would be if we could have imagined it ourselves. Certainly, we would have chosen a plot twist or two. However, with those changes, we may not have ended up where we are now—40+ years together through a kaleidoscope of experiences.

Over the years, situations occur and we often wish for a reset button. What surprises me about our connection is that we have reorganized our relationship with an open door policy of honesty and respect. This has propelled us further into the mother-daughter relationship that fiction writers aim to create. There have been numerous rocky paths that both of us had zero interest in navigating. We have shared tender moments together over lengthy conversations discussing how to self-improve. We have had the heartfelt dance of disclosures about our silenced feelings over the years.

I am looking forward to the many memories and life lessons we have yet to carry out together.

It seemed only natural for me to share my perspectives of how in awe I am of your resiliency and perseverance. The tribulations you have triumphed over and endured in your life, even prior to my existence, are beyond extraordinary. You continue to impress me with your optimism, endless energy, and the ability to create an environment that seems effortless. For anyone who meets you, little do they know of the constant battle you have fought and won to earn your place in this game we call living.

Your pain had to be unbearable, to safeguard me from the brutal agony you must have been experiencing in every sense of your being. I respect your strength to shield me from your inside turmoil and outside instability, with the various side effects and symptoms of being a domestic abuse victim, let alone the pain from the mental and physical attacks themselves. There have been many times in my life that I have come across women who have experienced similar storylines, and little did I know, my own mother was suffering in silence. I can only imagine the numerous times you wanted to share your pain, humiliation, and anger, and hope that someone would willingly make it all go away. Over the years, the choices you have made are a direct result of your experiences, and for that, I now understand and respect you for having the courage to carry on with a brave face even though you were frightened inside. I have a high regard for you, for not wanting to tarnish my father’s image. You have always maintained a neutral stance, and this must have been easier said than done. Thankfully, our conversations over the years allowed you a safe place with no judgment to express your secrets that have been locked up for years.

The key point I want to get across is we have had control over our choices. It was your choice to live with this anguish for decades, allowing people to believe you were the weak pillar in our family, when actually you were the cornerstone. I applaud you. I admire you. I thank you. We both had to mentally adapt our thought processes by making minor adjustments to our behaviors that we regularly carry out with each other, our family members, and friends. We each understand that habits are hard to break. But what continues to impress me is that you have the nonstop desire to want to modify your current behavior in order for the process to take place.

Transformation cannot occur unless we are willing and able to accept the responsibility that comes with the progression of change. You have done this over the years at your pace. There were times I wished it would have been at my pace, but time and maturity allowed me to understand that it is not for me to measure. We both have learned there are no magic capsules that can correct the paths we have been on together or individually. It is personal progress that shifts the gears to move toward the outcome one desires.

Learned behavior from parental practices passed down over the years can be difficult to break free from. The constant verbal assaults you have endured from various people in your life are inexcusable. The physical abuse that took place against your spirit was unwarrantable. You repeatedly have felt responsible for all these negative experiences and guilty for them flowing over into my life. You must realize they have allowed me to create change. They forced me to make the best of each situation that was presented to me—even if I was unaware of what would happen next. You gave me the space to revel in the unknown, find a comfort in uncertainty, and realize that once the discomfort and the vulnerability fades, one can find pleasure in this new way of existing.

One of my favorite quotes states, “We have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way down.” Thank you for modeling behavior that shows me I have the strength within me to do many things, but I have to believe in myself to get there. Over the years, you didn’t always believe in yourself, but I always believed within you there was a colossal courage. The desire you had deep down to leap from many unstable circumstances to find solid ground could not have been easy to summon up. Take comfort in knowing that watching you over the years made me realize what it takes to be a survivor.

You taught me many things. The only way we can advance ourselves in this life is to adamantly refuse to retreat. You are a wonderful example of this. I will continue to celebrate you. You must also celebrate you and disengage from the people that have haunted you over the years.

In short, Mom, my wish is that you raise your expectation of happiness and clear the past to make room for your full potential to soak in.

With deep love and admiration,

Your daughter

Image Credit

Photo by Shannon Hogan Cohen. All rights reserved

Guest Author Bio

Shannon Hogan Cohen

There has always been a special place in my heart for storytelling. I write because there is so much to say and my two teenage boys’ tire of listening to me. I write for insight, the more written the more I learn about myself. My passion for life and learning drives my appetite for adventure. Interests include travelling and learning about different cultures. I am married to a man who joins me on this journey and encourages me to grow.

To read more of my writing, please visit my website Prolific Preambles.

Website: Prolific Preambles

Connect with me: LinkedIn

An article on Medical Daily entitled “Chilling Brain Scans Show the Impact of a Mother’s Love on a Child’s Brain Size” reveals scientific evidence of just how much of an impact a mother’s love can truly have. The research compared brain scans from two three-year-old children; the child who received a “normal”, loving upbringing by a mother showed healthy brain development while the child who was neglected and abused by his mother had a smaller brain with darkened fuzzy areas (Hsu, 2012). It’s quite a frightening thought that the lack of motherly support and love can negatively shape an individual’s brain development. The article goes on to say that the child with the smaller brain who suffered neglect and abuse will “be more likely to become addicted to drugs, be involved in violent crime, be unemployed and dependent on government benefits” (Hsu, 2012).  

The impact of a mother’s love does not end with brain development – it can also affect a child’s risk of contracting certain ailments. A Time article, “How a Mother’s Love May Counter the Negative Health Effects of Poverty”, gives the details of a study performed upon 1,215 middle-aged Americans (Szalavitz, 2011). Children who grew up in poverty were found to be 40% more likely to have health ailments including high blood pressure, glucose intolerance, and extra fat around the middle in adulthood versus “privileged” children; however, this added risk completely disappeared in the case of poor children who were raised by nurturing mothers (Szalavitz, 2011).

There you have it; a mother’s love is very powerful indeed. A mother gives the gift of life and her continued support encourages healthy mental and physical development. Doesn’t your mom deserve to know just how much you appreciate her presence in your life? Mother’s day is just around the corner and it is the perfect opportunity to thank her.

This Mother’s Day, don’t just go with the same old flowers or hastily purchased card. Think of all your mother has given you and thank her properly. Your mother put a great deal of thought into raising you in order to instill you with the morals and beliefs she thought were correct. Put just a fraction of that time into celebrating her accomplishments and commitments. Write her a sentimental note … more than a sentence! Give her something personalized. A site like personalcreations.com can help you find just the right gift. Spend time with your mother without checking your cell phone every 2 minutes!

A mother’s love is a powerful catalyst. It shapes our lives in ways science has yet to comprehend. Without it our lives would be very different. This Mother’s Day, be sure to thank your mother for her love and for all of the gifts she has given you.

Photo Credits

Images are from The Microsoft Office Clipart Collection

Guest Author Bio

Geoff Beers
Geoff Beers is a freelancer writer and father of three wonderful children. His favorite topics to write about include human relationships, bargain hunting and event planning. When Geoff isn’t writing you can find him out fishing with his kids, or coaching their sports teams. You can read more articles from him at the Event Planning Channel on About.com at http://eventplanning.about.com

This was part of the proclamation of Julia Ward Howe, the woman who is most credited with introducing the idea of Mother’s Day to the United States (and likely by way of proximity, to Canada). While she is most famous for writing the lyrics for The Battle Hymn of the Republic, she penned the above proclamation in 1870. It was a call to unite all women against war in all forms. She wanted peaceful resolutions to all conflicts. Her words had little to do with chocolates, flowers and sweet handmade gifts — and everything to do with justice, equality and peace on an international scale.

Mary Cassatt's "Mother and Child", 1880s

While Howe’s attempt to get formal recognition of Mother’s Day was not successful, there were others who followed her lead. In 1907, two years after social activist Ann Maria Reeves Jarvis died, her daughter Anna Marie Jarvis started a campaign for Mother’s Day. She and her mother had Mother’s Day Work Clubs in five cities that focused on improving health and sanitation. They also helped to care for Confederate soldiers. By 1914, she was successful and Mother’s Day was decreed a national holiday.

While these two women get the credit for bringing together the idea of motherhood and peace, there are organizations and groups spearheaded by women all over the world mobilizing for peace and justice. In 1918, the Women’s International League for Peace was formed in the U.K.. Groups like this created a wave, which inspired women to band together to refuse violence, militarism, and war. One such movement, formed in 1988, was the Women in Black. Jewish women responded to Palestinian violence by taking to public spaces to host weekly vigils.

NS Bendre's 1980 oil on canvas, "Mother and Child"

In 2001, the Mindanao Commission on Women, Mothers for Peace, was established by Muslim, Christian and Indigenous women leaders of Mindanao in the Philippines as a vehicle for change. Their goal was to insert women’s perspectives into the decision making, to influence public policy and public opinion about peace and development. They have lobbied to make women’s issues central to decisions about peace because the leadership of women is integral to creating and sustaining peace.

I could easily continue to identify and talk about other groups of women that have linked equality, motherhood and peace — because there are many. I have started a tradition in my house of hosting Mother’s Day brunch. As a member of the youngest generation of mothers in my family, it’s my job. I will always honour those who have walked the path before me, those who know how tough it is and are helping me to navigate my own way.

But, this Mother’s Day, I would like to return to the message that Julia Ward Howe tried so desperately to have acknowledged, the message carried on by the Mothers of Peace in the Philippines, Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, Syria, Turkey, Lebanon, Uganda, the United States of America, Canada and, yes, even my fair hometown of Victoria, British Columbia.

Unrest, injustice, conflict, murder, rape, mental illness and war — it all exists, and this Mother’s Day, I would like to call for a moment of silence for mother’s who have lost children, children who have lost mothers, and for peace. Above all, global peace, because we are still seeking it, hoping for it, wanting it and do not yet have it.

Recently, a quote from Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. went viral on social media sites like Facebook in response to celebration and cheer over Osama Bin Laden’s death. While I’m somewhat ashamed to have reposted a quote that was not entirely historically accurate, I agree with the sentiment.

During a sermon in 1957 Dr. Martin Luther King, inspired by his mother or his good, pure heart, actually said, “Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.”

Anna Marie Jarvis later became bitter about the commercialization of Mother’s Day and was not, to say the least, a great fan of the greeting card. She argued that they were lazy, hollow and strayed from the original intent of the holiday. E-greeting cards would probably send her rolling in her grave. At her mother’s funeral, Jarvis handed out 500 white carnations. This set off a tradition of giving pink carnations to mothers to represent love and respect, and white carnations worn in honour and respect for those mothers who are no longer living. My dining room table will have a mixture of both.

And my message to kids – thank your mother for loving you and helping you to resolve conflicts.

Photo Credit

“Mary Cassatt’s “Mother and Child”, 1880s”

“NS Bendre’s 1980 oil on canvas, ‘Mother and Child'”

Before I became a mother, I drove too fast. I rode on the riskiest circus rides.I thought I loved my cat as much as I could ever love a child. I made faces at bratty children having tantrums in stores.

I did not know that the smell of a baby’s hair is better than Chanel 5. I did not know I was capable of unconditional love. I did not understand my own mother.

I had no idea how strong I could be. I had no idea how gentle I could be.
I did not know how much my heart could hold.
I still don’t, but as a mother I think it must be endless.

Image Credit

Gustav Klimt “Three Ages of Woman, Mother and Child (detail)

My Mum, aged 100 years.

She is smiling and happy for all to see, but inside she is as mad as a hatter because the chap had turned up before she got into her birthday finery. Great self control.

Like lots of old people, she spent the last years of her life in a care home. She could just about manage to get washed by herself but stiffening arthritic shoulders obliged her to depend on others to riffle through her two vast wardrobes for her to choose the matching outfit of the day and help her into it, together with matching junk jewellery and/or scarf.

Apart from the two hips replacements – the product of osteoporosis and general lack of calcium in the years following the last war – she was as fit as a flea. She played golf twice a week until she was over 75, and only gave it up when she broke both wrists. Several times in her life, she got a hole in one much to my father’s disgruntlement.

Mum had been trained as a tailoress, but she got married too young to practise. She made all our clothes and some magical ball gowns for my sister and me. She covered the furniture, made the curtains, and she recycled clothes (I had a much admired Harris tweed suit made from my father’s golfing plus fours).

She spent all Saturday baking for the week, and cleaned, polished and vacuumed (those were the days before the Hoover). She did mountains of washing on Mondays in an old tub boiler with a mangle and hung all the big white sheets on the line in the winter sun. If it rained, she piled them on the clothes horse in front of the fire – our only source of heat.

She didn’t seem to be a brilliant cook until I went to friends for tea and realised that their Mums never made cakes and that there were only a couple of biscuits for tea. Mum’s Christmas cooking has never been surpassed by anyone. I am not talking turkey here because it was just a British traditional Christmas dinner, although a fresh farm turkey would have been sent over from Ireland by relatives who knew we couldn’t get much meat.

Mum’s greatest triumphs were her Christmas cake and her Christmas pudding which she started making at the end of September, having saved up all the currants, sultanas and raisins throughout the summer from the ration coupons. As neither of my aunts could bake or cook, they relied on my mother.

She made at least three huge Christmas cakes (there was always one for my birthday in January) and maybe six puddings. The puddings were all boiled up in the washing machine boiler and, when they had cooled, were put to drain on the wooden draining board next to the sink. We didn’t keep them in the pantry because we often had mice, so we put them in the cupboard at the bottom of the dresser. Our cake was often stored, well wrapped, in a suitcase under the bed. It was hawked out every so often to have rum poured into it. I never tasted a cake as good as my mother’s. In those days, too, you had to make your own marzipan. Sooooo tasty! My Mum wasn’t any great shakes at icing so the little model Santa and reindeers had to battle through Canadian style snow-drifts on the top of the cake.

She had a great sense of humour – which she needed in our family as we were always teasing her. The telephone was a bit of a mystery to her at first and she would hold it at arms length and bellow into the speaker. She couldn’t get to grips with those new-fangled automatic identity photo machines either, and the varied views of the top of her head as she adjusted her hat, not knowing the identity photo was being taken, were passed around the family for years amidst gales of laughter.

Mum aged four with her parents, circa 1905

Like many women of her generation, she was exceptionally innocent and frowned at “dirty” jokes, even though she didn’t quite understand them. She was disgusted at bad language. One evening not long after my father died, all the family was gathered around the telly watching some intensely educational scientific programme. At some point, it dawned on us that the programme was about treating sterility in the male.

As sperm wriggled feverishly across the screen (fortunately in black and white), we all shifted uncomfortably in our seats, waiting for our mother to march across the room and turn the telly off, as she had been know to do. She must have remembered as she gazed at the screen that my father had been passionately interested in entomology and had spent years making his own slides to view under the microscope. That’s where I saw my first bee’s knees and fly eyes. Mum exclaimed, obviously ignorant of what was actually on the screen, “Oh! That’s what your Dad used to show me under the microscope.” While my brother and brother-in-law and I snorted into our cups of cocoa and tried to stop convulsing with laughter, my sister rose to her full height and proclaimed, “Mother, don’t be so ridiculous, and don’t ever say that again.” Mum was quite bemused but ever after she used to get shirty if we said. “Hey, Ma! Tell us what Dad showed you under the microscope!” because she knew she had said something wrong but didn’t know what.

She loved her food — and my fancy French cooking reminded her of her mother’s cooking, I think only because my mother’s family had always had goose for Christmas because they raised it in their back yard. She came over several times to see my French penfriend’s family and ate everything with great gusto. She particularly loved the French bread and cruzos which was her best rendition of croissants. Languages were not her strong point.

When my penfriend’s family came over to Wales to visit, she made one of her copious lunches and we all managed, with my French, to keep the Entente Cordiale going. As we were having coffee after lunch, we were startled to hear from the kitchen the two mothers speaking the same language.

“Vous voulez que je lave ou que j’essuie?”

“No, no, dear, it’s all right. I’ll wash and you wipe.”

“Ou est-ce que je mets ca?”

“Just put it in the cupboard up there, dear.”

“Celui-ci?”

“No, dear, the next one.”

Talk about Entente Cordiale!

She’d had two hips replacements, one of which went wrong because she was too frightened of the nurse to ask for help. So she fell trying to get out of bed herself to go to the loo, entailing a displacement of the new hip joint. The result was that one leg was shorter than the other and walking was painful.

She lasted quite a long time in her flat with the help of Social Services and family visits. She had to sleep downstairs and have a chemical toilet installed under the stairs. We insisted that she have one of those alarms around her neck, in case she fell again.

One time when we went to see her, she recounted, amid giggles, what had happened when she went to the toilet. Like a lot of older women, she wore a corset with suspenders, surmounted by a vest and a petticoat. Because the corset arrangement left a gap between its end and her stocking tops (two pairs – one elastic and one other), she felt obliged to wear two pairs of drawers. One pair was ordinary panties and the other was long-John-type bloomers.

Imagine the hassle in going to the loo. You have to heave up the tweed skirt, ditto the petticoat, ditto the long vest, and tuck them under you chin. Then as you crouch, you ease down the bloomers and finally the panties. Just as she was about to perch her prodigious posterior on the chemical loo, she heard a voice booming, “Are you all right, Tess?” She was momentarily terrified as she thought God was calling her until she realised that, with all the stuff trapped under her chin, she had inadvertently pressed the alarm and it was the fire brigade to the rescue! We cackled over that for quite some time.

She went into the old people’s home when she was about 94 and made quite a few friends there. She really didn’t want to go on suffering and asked me several times to help her die. I said I couldn’t because it was illegal and jollied her along to her 100th birthday by saying she would get a card from the Queen. She did and was very proud of it. We had a huge family party, organised by my sister, and friends came from all over. She had hundreds of birthday cards and was amazed, seeing some people who had come from so far to greet her on her birthday, some she hadn’t seen for 20 years or more.

About two months later, I had a call from the residential home. Mum was refusing to get out of bed. I went over to see her and she asked me again to help her depart in peace. I had to refuse, but I said that if she stopped eating, she would surely die. This is what she did, plus stopped taking her medication. It took her over a month.

She deserved better. She was a good and faithful Mum.

Photo Credits
“Mum on her 100th birthday” © Stratford on Avon Herald
“Mum aged four with her parents, circa 1905”

I ask this because I remember once reading about the duties of a mother and it was an exhaustive list. I have yet to come across such a list about the duties of a father but I would surmise it entails such things as: provide economically for the family, maintain a close relationship with his children, share in disciplinarian roles, cooperate with his partner or wife, and share in household tasks.

Seems pretty basic. But what about child care responsibilities, PTA meetings, dance or sport lessons, cooking dinner, nursing a sick child, and the list goes on…?

Please note that I don’t intend for this to be a male-bashing commentary — rather a more obvious and culturally accepted “way things are.” I also want to acknowledge the many fathers out there who serve as father and mother to their children.

In female-dominated single-parent homes, the mother usually assumes this role singlehandedly along with being the disciplinarian, authoritarian and income-earner. If she is lucky, she will have male family members or role models to bounce ideas off or who can provide some unique instruction and perspective to her children, as only a male can. If she is not so lucky, she is left to her own devices to make the best decisions she can.

I am fortunate that I had three children who recognized that I was carrying a heavy load and when they were old enough they began to celebrate ME on Father’s Day too. It usually started out like Mother’s Day with breakfast in bed and homemade cards, and now it has evolved to gifts of the latest technological gadget or a slew of books.

Most importantly — beyond gifts and acts of doing — this helped me to see the importance of what both roles meant to my children. I am also fortunate that they have a relationship with their father as well.

I would hope that as Father’s Day approaches you will reach out to these single-parent moms who are tirelessly doing double duty and wish them a Happy Father’s Day — for they have often filled the void of the absentee father.

Photo Credit

“IMGP2577” @ Digismile STL @ Flickr.com. Some Rights Reserved.

Most of her little gems are unorthodox; many of them aren’t suitable for polite company; all of them remind me how ridiculously charmed my life is, that I was begotten by such an exceptional woman. So, for your edification, a few words she’s given me to live by during the past 23 years:

“Girls can do everything boys can do. Plus, they can have babies.” My mother repeated this so stridently, in fact, that one of my earliest memories is being three years old and feeling profound pity for my father for having to live in what was obviously a woman’s world. Now I realize the advice was rosy-colored, but, thanks to my mom, I understand that being a feminist means making your own choices. Even if that choice is the unpopular decision to stay home and rear a family full-time.

“A good boy shows up on your doorstep, carrying bagels.” Sure, you can cry over the bad boys while you’re waiting for your future bagel-bearer, but the guy you should ultimately end up with? He’s going to be all over you like a cheap suit. And woe to him if he underestimates the bagel-lust that runs in my bloodline.

“Always test the merchandise.” Bless her heart, my mother demands her children’s lives be well-rounded in every aspect. Which generally translates to lengthy phone chats filled with salacious sex advice. I’m not saying she actually went so far as to sign me up for couples’ pole-dancing classes with my college boyfriend, but…

“Dull women keep immaculate houses.” Take the dining room table in my childhood home, for example. Used for: impromptu arts and crafts, school science projects, tax audits, sewing lessons, weird decorative candle exhibits. Not used for: dining in any form.

“You don’t stop flirting ‘til you’re dead.” Sure, she and my dad have been happily married for more years than she’d like me to publicly admit, but every time she picks up the phone or walks into a store, she spackles on the charm with a dang spatula. I have her example to thank for a lifetime of reversed overdraft charges, same-day service calls, and free baked goods.

When I have a daughter of my own, I look forward to repeating all the instructive bon mots my mother has passed on to me over the years. Especially the off-color ones, ‘cause what’s the point of having kids if you can’t occasionally embarrass them? And if I can live up to one half of the extraordinary example set by my amazing mother, I’ll count myself a success.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. And I promise — every nagging email is a blessing.

Photo Credit

“Mama Elephant”