Mother Was Right

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: Tomorrow is, of course, Mother’s Day, when we celebrate moms - our own, or those who took us under their wing, or those who have stood in place of a mother.

 

My relationship with my mother was as complicated as most of ours are; I loved her very much and she could drive me crazy like no one else. She was caring, energetic, had a razor-sharp wit and would have been a CEO if she’d been born in a different time. She lived through a lot, and she wanted to share the wisdom she’d gained, thus, the driving-me-crazy part.

 

The older I’ve gotten, though, the more I realize, well, how right my mother was about many things. Being firm but very polite does make people want to help solve your problem. People will treat you differently depending on how you’re dressed. One glass of wine while cooking dinner and one while eating it should  be enough for anyone sensible. Investing regularly in a no-load index fund is the surest way to build wealth.

 

The most right thing she ever said to me? “You should be a writer.” Yep, it was my mom who first told me that was where my talents lie - and this was after I’d gotten a masters and a JD.

 

How about you, Reds? What was your mother right about?

 

RHYS BOWEN: I’m trying to think. My mother was not an easy person when I was growing up. School principal. Hyper critical  later we had a great relationship but I see now that she was overworked, over stressed and had awful migraines. I wish she had given me more advice but frankly I can’t remember much. When I wanted to apply to RADA she did say to get my degree first then I’d have something to fall back on if acting didn’t work. I got my degree and went into the production side instead. Was that good advice? I sold my first play to the BBC so maybe it was.

 

HALLIE EPHRON: My mother was a Hollywood screenwriter. WAY ahead of her time. For each of the four of us she picked first names that would still define us if/when we got married and acquired a new last name. And she wanted us to have real jobs, WORK and creative lives in a man’s world.  She was aghast that I wanted to be a teacher. Too traditionally female. It took 20 years for my expectations to catch up with hers.

 

DEBORAH CROMBIE: Most of the things my mom passed on to me were by example, love of travel, love of learning, an expectation that I could accomplish things. She worked from the time she left school and became an equal partner in my parents’ business. She NEVER encouraged or expected me to just get married and have kids. With only a highschool education, she fully supported my various forays in higher education, but when I wanted to transfer into a respected four-year liberal arts college, she insisted that I first take a secretarial course, so that I “could always make a living.” That turned out to be great advice, even if not quite in the way she expected!

 

 

 

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: Oh, my mom was always right. Just ask her.

Sometimes, now, when something happens that I know she’d love–or more likely, criticize–I wish she were here to give her pronouncements. And I wish she were here so I could tell her how often she was right. I remember asking her why she was always so critical of me–and she’d say: “I’m not criticizing, I’m just observing.”

If I got an A, she’d be annoyed that it wasn’t an A-plus.  Nothing was ever ever enough.  I’m not sure I’ve ever stopped trying to please her. And you know, that might not actually be a bad thing. 

Her advice: Never have your photo taken holding a glass of wine. Never wear a color not found in nature. And, a word for word maxim, “thoughtful consideration of others is the sign of a true lady.”

 

 

LUCY BURDETTE: Like Debs, I think I learned more from my mother by watching than her pronouncements. She loved animals, her family, food, reading. I did not learn about her desserts from her as she didn’t have a sweet tooth and wasn’t a baker except for Christmas cookies and birthday cakes (I think the latter were from mixes.) John and I always laugh about her sex education talk: “One day you will love a man the way you do your cat.” He says he’s still waiting:). 

 

Happy mother’s day to all mothers, grandmothers, aunts, sisters, teachers, therapists–so many should get credit and thanks for taking care of the world!

 

JENN McKINLAY: My mom is one of my besties. She has the unique ability to love her people unconditionally, so even when her people do something thoughtless or make a bad choice, she is very clear that she’s in your corner and will help you even while calling you a dumbass. I think the best advice she ever gave me was when I was pregnant. She said, “As you start, so shall you go.” It made me aware that how I chose to parent the Hooligans would set the foundation for our relationship for the rest of their lives. Happy to say the Hooligans are now two of my besties, so Mom was right per usual.

JULIA: Dear readers, what was your mother (or mother-like-person) right about?

Happy Mothers Day

 JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: I have a confession to make. Despite having three kids and getting a steady stream of school-made crepe paper bouquets,  hand-drawn cards (Ross was in charge of wrangling this project) and dollar store gifts wrapped in tissue, I always feel a little bit like an imposter when I'm receiving Mothers Day benisons.

 

Because, of course, for me, Mothers Day was about my own mother, Lois Fleming. I had college and grad school years where I made reverse-charge phone calls, and young mother years where I sent too-expensive gifts because I was guilty I didn't call enough. In the last decade or so before my Mom died, we fell into a good rhythm -  I had a wonderful local florist deliver little potted gardens that she could grow indoors, and we talked multiple times a week. 

 

I loved my mom and she drove me crazy. She assumed raising me gave her a lifelong permission slip to let me know when my hair, weight and child-rearing techniques were wrong. She saw my potential always; when I was a distracted teen not getting the grades I should and when I was wondering if I might be a writer. She was my fiercest advocate, pushing my books on everyone and anyone, and she was also the Queen of Passive Aggression, who reminded me on at least eighty occasions about the one time I forgot to send her one of my author copies and she had to buy the book herself. In the style of Catholic saints' days, my brother and sister would call her Lois Fleming, Mother and Martyr.

She was ridiculously funny, kind of a cross between Carol Burnett and Joan Rivers, and my sister and I can still crack each other up by referencing one of her jokes or making one of her faces. She would also say things that literally left me crying after I hung up the phone. 

 

I once said Enough, with Ross's encouragement, and didn't speak to her for six months. 

 

My sister brokered a peace, and we all met up for a weekend at my house. Mom brought her favorite Finger Lakes wine, and we all pretended nothing had happened, and after that, we fell right back into being friends again.

 

She was widowed, remarried, divorced, and  back living in her own mothers house with three kids by the time she was 34. She never let us kids realize how poor we were in those years before she married a third time, and despite having to go most of a winter driving with the windows open because she couldn't afford to fix the defroster, she banked every single Social Security Survivors check that came for me - so when it was time for college, I could get two degrees, take internships and study abroad with zero debt, because that money was there for me.

 

She taught anyone who would listen about pinching pennies, saving and investing - my oldest credits her Grammy's advice for enabling her to buy a house by herself at 29. She and dad sent generous checks for birthdays and Christmas and nothing else despite their wealth, a policy that was both liberating and frustrating. Some of their kids suffered real hardships that could have been avoided.

 

On the other hand, she wouldn't spend the money on herself, either, despite urging from her children. When I helped dad clear out her closets, I found six unopened bottles of shampoo she had gotten buy-one-get-one-free plus a fifty percent off coupon. 

 

My parents had eight kids between them, and left us all a very generous sum when dad passed away last year. I wish I had less, and that she had taken one more Caribbean cruise and one more trip to Europe.

 

She died suddenly and unexpectedly of a stroke, en route from DC, where my brother and sister live, to her home in upstate NY. Her three children and two of her grandkids were there. My sister and I sat on either side of the bed and held her hands and told her she looked great, despite the ventilator. Appearances mattered a lot to her, and even on her deathbed, her hair, makeup and manicure were impeccable. She would have liked that. 

 

My mom drove me crazy, and I loved her. I miss her - the real person she was, flawed and fabulous - and I hope I make as good use of my time on earth as she did.

 

Happy Mothers Day, Mom.

Motherhood Is Not for the Weak by Jenn McKinlay

Several years ago, the Hub called me from work and said, "Darlin', I have a problem."

"What's up?" I asked.

"The cat peed in my shoes," he said.

I put my hand over my mouth so he couldn't hear me laugh. Chubs was our sixteen-year-old cat, who had been with me since college. He was technically my first born -- yes, even though he had fur he was still my baby. 

Chubs - before senility kicked in

"I'm sitting at my desk," he said. "And I keep smelling this awful stink. I'm sniffing and sniffing and finally I realize it's my shoe."

Now I had to hold the phone away from my mouth so he couldn't hear me howl.

"I can't even imagine how many people I've offended today," he said.

"You poor thing," I said. "You know Chubs is senile. You have to watch where you put your shoes. He thinks they're mini litter boxes."

"Yeah, I know," he said.

"Tell you what," I said. "The boys will be up in a few minutes and we'll come by and bring you a fresh pair of shoes."

"And socks?" he asked.

"Sure."

"I love you," he said.

"As you should," I said.

About two weeks after this, I was sitting at my desk and I started to smell this hideous stink. It would assault my senses and disappear. I sniffed my Keds. Yep. Chubs got my shoes. Normally, I could roll with the pet and child shenanigans, but on that day I fell into a funk and stayed that way. A real mean red sort of a day.

I told the Hub, "I don't know what's wrong with me, the boys are rambunctious, the puppy ate a Lego, and the cat peed in my shoes, you know, same old same old, but I can't shake this mood."

He looked at me with one eyebrow raised. We both knew that there were only two other times that I had had such black days. A couple of weeks after we conceived each child, I had a day where I just wanted to punch someone in the throat. I didn't, but I sorely wanted to.

Five days later (on April Fool's Day -- Ha ha! -- NOT) just to end the speculation, I bought a pregnancy test. It was one of those that took all three minutes for the second line to appear. Hub and I stood there shaking our heads. "That can't be right."

I went out to the store and bought two more. This time I ponied up the money for the digital kind that said, "Pregnant or Not pregnant." Both said "Pregnant." 

Hub was delighted and I was catatonic. How could this have happenend? I had finally, after months of waffling, gotten to the place where I was done making babies. I'd given away all of my maternity clothes, baby clothes and was just beginning to unload the baby furniture. 

The next week was a rollercoaster of emotions, riding up the anticipatory ramp of "oh, a baby" to hurtling down the backside of "oh, gees, I have to give birth again". Up and down from pure joy to utter despair and back again. Then I woke up one day, and I knew something was dreadfully wrong. I sobbed, "But I don't want to lose this baby." 

Despite my catatonic state, I had started shopping for a pregnancy journal and had bickered over names with the Hub three times. Hooligan 2, who was not quite two, had demanded to read the book _The New Baby_ every night. He picked it out on his own which I took as a good sign that he'd be okay as the middle child. Hooligan 1 had begun lobbying to name the baby Thomas the Tank Engine. 

I called my doctor and he rushed me in to see what was up. Hub and the boys came with me. The Doc talked to us about what was happening and then they left me to change into the lovely paper outfit you get to wear for an examination. I disrobed, taking off my shoes first. The stink hit me right between the nostrils and I almost doubled over. The cat had peed in my shoes! 

So now this wonderful man, Dr. Cohen, who had brought both of my sons into the world, was going to have to sit in between my feet which reeked of cat pee and give me an exam. Is there a nastier smell? How does one explain this to one's ObGyn? "It's not really me. My cat peed in my shoes." Uh huh. Yeah, I said nothing and hoped he wouldn't notice. Right.

When the Doc finished his exam, he pronounced me about six weeks along but there were some concerns, and I would have to be monitored closely. He left and the Hub and the boys returned to the exam room. Hub's nose wrinkled and he asked, "What is that smell?"

"Chubs peed in my shoes," I said.

"Naturally," he sighed. "Did you tell the Doc?"

"I couldn't really work it in," I said.

Doc returned and mapped out all of the possible scenarios. We braced ourselves for the worst. Unable to contain myself or even try to be cool, I blurted out that our cat was senile and had peed in my shoes.

"One cup hydrogen peroxide, one tablespoon baking soda and one drop of liquid hand soap," Doc said. "That will take the cat pee smell out of anything."

I tried it later that day and he was right. It completely wiped out the smell. Amazing.

Sadly, I eventually lost the baby. Hub and I were crushed. We didn't even know we wanted another until the dumb stick said it was a go. Our poor senile cat passed away the following year, and the Lego eating puppy lived a full life, chasing the hooligans around, until she, too, went over the rainbow bridge many years later. 

In the end, it turned out there were no more babies for us, but at least I got a cure all recipe for removing cat pee stank and we went on to adopt two kittens, who are now old cranky cats but at least they don't pee in our shoes, two more puppies, a fish who won't die, and, of course, King George, our latest rescue kitten. 


Why am I sharing this story on Mother's Day? Because I am the grandmaster of the overshare? Maybe. But I think it's because this was my first real loss as a Mom, and it was a staggering loss. It gave me a deeper understanding of the emotional cost of motherhood, even if it was just for the few weeks of a possibility and not, in this case, an eventuality. As the hooligans perch on the precipice of departure and all of my pets age, I know I am in for more losses, and that's okay, that's how it's supposed to be. Motherhood, of any kind, I have discovered is not for the weak. Also, the recipe for curing cat pee stink really works. You're welcome.




Happy Mother's Day to you and yours, be they finned, feathered, furry, or not!