You’ve been hearing a lot about my father lately (absurd little Native American leprechaun that he is), so I figured I should give my mother equal press. The poor woman does deserve her few moments in the sun, she had to labor for an entire Labor Day in order for me to get here after all. She is extremely, and I am not sugar-coating this, extremely talkative, and can be as self-centered as her eldest daughter. She is also amazingly generous and kind.
I don’t think you could walk out into a crowd of people without banging smack up against a huge number who have mother issues. I certainly do/did. And I can pretty much guarantee my own kids have/will. We try, us mothers, and we use the tools we are given. Or we branch out and fly completely by the seat of our pants. As my own mom did. She never liked the idea of letting a baby “cry it out.” Or “breaking” a baby of any (perceived) habit. She would ask, “why would you want to BREAK your baby?” She had excellent baby instincts, raising teenagers, not so much.
She was the youngest, as I’ve said before, of three, with two older brothers, very much the baby of that family. She also grew up extremely sheltered, and quite naive. Not to mention, very Catholic in the 1950′s. So, there’s that. (Keep your knickers on Delia, not sayin’ this was a bad thing, merely stating the facts. I love me some Catholics, Big Time, and was named after a saint, which probably saved my life more often than I will ever know.)
She did have a pretty free thinking mom her own wee self elf. Sadly, her mother was also basically certifiable, on many levels. They both stood their ground though, they both spoke up when necessary. Mom and I laugh now, saying that we come from a genetic line of ragingly bitchy women. But hey, we don’t ever get taken advantage of. And neither do my own daughters.
These things crossed my mind because my children continue to prove generous and fabulous. And I continue to not take the credit for it. I may have done a few things right, but I absolutely did a few things very wrong. Not a damn change I can make in those early years now though. I can only move forward, thank my mother for doing the right things right, and forgive her for making the mistakes she did; thank my children every damn chance I get, and continue to apologize for the major fuck ups I have caused.
Look what my son bought yesterday at the gift and food thingie. 
No, not the ratty old dog bowls, the gorgeous and mildew-proof rug underneath the ratty old dog bowls. But wait, there’s more.
When we go to the State Fair, our last stop before we head home is the Olive Lady. I have no idea what the name of her booth is, but she sells a big long skewer with many olives on it, for I don’t know, some dollars. They are stuffed (with a variety of things, like a glove of garlic, and a wedge of cheese, and about five other options I can’t remember right now), and I adore them. (She’s always there, no matter what day we show up, she must have a damn cot under the counter, and just live inside with her coolers of olives at her side, for weeks on end.) My son found some olives locally. Have I mentioned how much I adore these tasty little tidbits? Well I do. And I adore my damn kids as well.
These are some flavoring packets that we will use in the next few weeks. The dessert ones J.D. will turn into pies and dip and other types of yumminess. The Box O’ Goodness he said to “give to Dad so he can make food out of them.” Will do!
Our card today came up as, well … wow. I wrote the majority of this post last night, saved it, and then went to bed. When I started my day (this afternoon, at the crack of two), and went into the room where the card altar is, I had kind of forgotten what I wrote (I was thinking about my day, not my blog, odd I know). So I flipped it, took the picture, and went on with other things. Then I sat down here just now, and looked at the definition. Huh. Pretty damn cool, even for us.
“Cow ~ Bo (with a thing over the ‘o’) ~ Nourishment, Motherhood, The Goddess.
The card shows a highland cow placidly standing beside the peaceful waters of a Scottish loch. In the foreground we see cow-berry (cranberry) and cowslip, and to the right, milk-wort (field gentian).
Bo opens us to an awareness of the Goddess. Her generosity, healing, and nourishing power is present all around you – in your friends, family, and children, in your food and drink, in your dreams, and particularly in the natural world that you are blessed to live in. She brings protection from all harmful influences, and by attuning to her presence you can gain the inestimable benefit of deep and peaceful sleep. By opening yourself to Bo and to her sacred quality as manifestation of the Goddess on Earth, you will be connecting to the perpetual stream of nourishing energy that flows from the Goddess to each one of us. To experience this, there is nothing you need to do.
Gratitude and acknowledgement for our mothers, and mothers the world over, is always welcome. Be aware, be in tune, and be thankful, of the Earth’s motherhood to us all.”
My biggest hope in this life is that my son grows up to be a happy, healthy, well-adjusted, responsible, generous, independent adult. With a college degree. I just can’t help throwing that last part in there. Being a mom is hard and scary and amazing.
It is all those things.
(“With a college degree.” Nice touch!)
I’d like to report that my knickers are both on and untwisted. Also, I’m scared to death that my kids will grow up resenting and/or hating me. There. I said it. *phew* And thank you for posting the pics of olives, because I absolutely hate them, which means I am not at all tempted to go scrounging anywhere in an attempt to find some to eat right before bed. Yay!
Yay for happy unbunched knickers! Love you tons Sweetie.
And phew! I did not enable, nor tempt you with those olives. That was a close one.
As to our kids, I know, I worry about this still (and mine have mostly showed me what they look like all growed up). Won’t go away, sorry to report. However, this also means that it’s something we are aware of. All we can hope for there.
I love me some olives–which is a taste I developed only in the last 10 years–and now must rummage. I think we’ve got some cerignolos from my last trip to the olive bar.
The third anniversary of my mom’s death just passed, and I’ve been thinking about her a lot. It’s amazing how much of her remains in me, and how much I’ve grown since she died. Moms, they’re amazing.
OH good, another olive lover. (Shh, don’t tell Delia.)
I’m sorry about your mother’s passing.
In my own belief system, I would say, that she is certainly proud of all you have accomplished! (Especially recently, as you have become the Maven of All Inspiration around here.)
Olives! LOVE me some olives. Any kind. Any time. Yum.
I don’t have daughters, only my gorgeous sons. So…we have survived all things, except for births of grandbabies, which is not on the horizon at the moment. I think, they would agree, that just being there and talking about everything, apologizing, and loving is all you can do. There is very little we do not talk about. Somehow it all worked out, even the teen rebellion, the major and minor mishaps. And, yes, I get the same look, “okay, mom, we will humour you” to whatever I am on about.
There has only been one deep hurt which I had to suck up as one couple did not realize how much it hurt. I survived and it was only words. I know I hurt my mother with insensitive words.
When my children said, “I am glad you were strict” I knew I had done a great job. Or the “You should have made me.” To which I replied, “Yeah, right.” The response was “Oh, you’re right.” Being an adult is the great leveller.
Your kiddies love you, it is very evident.
Well, that was a whole lot of blabber. Keeping my word alive.
The implication being that we would some how NOT enjoy your mothering reminiscence? Because we did, or at least I did, and never even considered it “blabber” for one second.
When those kids come back later, as adults, and say thanks for something, it is huge.
Well we are on a roll here. So after all my ‘come to jesus’ moments last weeks with my son, I was editing an outstanding paper tonight. Told him I could only promt him, not tell him the answers, and guess what…he came home to be nourished, with help finding his voice in written word and eating a good meal. Every time he leaves a little stronger and I feel more comfortable with his place in the world. I’m gonna let this card roll up the coast and over me. Yup.
Jeese, if only the card that would explain the college tradition of ‘no-shave November’ would turn up. I haven’t a clue on this one.
Also, stuffed olives; devine.
This is so great to hear about Nick. Once they get going on that whole maturity thing, it sort of takes off!
No kids, but I was the child of a Betty (given name, no nickname). Oldest child of two youngest children. I did a terrible job of preparing my parents for my sister. She and my Dad were WAY too much alike (short version: hellions) but eventually became good friends before he died. I recall (as some of the self-help books of the early eightys were proliferating) Mom saying “Just write a book called ‘Adult Children of Parents’ and get over yourselves already.” I have enough anicdotal (sp) stories to fill a pamphlet, but by and large, it would say how my parents, under schooled (as my Dad was, note that I do not say under educated, ’cause he did that himself) or unfocused (yes, she was) as they were, did a fine job raising us.
I also love olives, and love Price Chopper’s olive bar. It is probably a good thing their parking lot is such a damn hassle, or a LCSO patrol jeep might be stopping there pretty close to daily to get some olives. As a side bar (not the olive bar) it is pretty funny when I go there for meetings in uniform. People really don’t know what to do with a cop in the store…
LOL, I just love knowing that your mom was a true Betty!
And yeah, you guys are a wee bit difficult to take places when you’ve got all that gear on. Not exactly stealthy.
Well, now I know who to re-gift the next time someone sends me a gift basket of shudder olives
Straight down I-5, send ‘em on, we’ll stand out by the road with a baseball mitt.
I love talking about my kiddies. For some who are not so enamored, perhaps, it is blabber. I am a mom first, love my boys, their friends, many are -not-of-my-body- sons, their spouses, girlfriends, etc. Big connection with you on the mama level, as well, as other things.
Lunch: Grilled ‘old cheddar’ cheese made with olive bread, tomato basil soup and an apple. yummy
ACK! I need olive ciabatta now!
(Funny how we have so much in common, and at the same time so many differences too, I love this.)
Another olive lover here.
As for mothering…I have no kids, but my own mum did an awesome job, especially given that she was a young mother and I was the first child. I was a very easy kid though so I think she got it pretty good
It’s those “good” babies that lull us into a false sense of security, making us think we can do the mom-thing at all. Great that we have them (you!) though.