Ridiculousness 5/8/2022

By: Jennifer Richardson Holt

Where do I even begin?  I don’t think there are words that will ever do justice to the topic at hand.  Mothers. You had one or you are one.  Does the English language even have anything at all that can lend the appropriate significance? I would have to venture that it does not. And unfortunately, I am not fluent enough in any other tongue to write about the women who mold and make us so whatever I can muster today will just have to be my lackluster contribution to the holiday at hand.  I will relate to you a few stories of motherhood that I happen to have in my possession. Therefore I am simply relating experiences and hopefully not doing some terrible injustice to the immeasurable value of mothers everywhere.  I suppose I can equate that task with how one eats an elephant. So here I begin, one bite at a time.

I will start with what I know the best and that would be with my very own mother. There is nothing I can say that will come remotely close to how amazing of a woman she is and if there is anyone reading this that knows her you will wholeheartedly agree so I am not speaking completely from bias.  I remember when I was young she made my clothes. Now, part of this was I think because we were not a well off family. I am blessed enough to say that I was utterly unaware of any financial lack because of my wonderful parents who made sure that I never wanted for anything. My mother made all sorts of attire for me to wear. I even clearly remember when I was rather young the mere thought of a flare or even slightly wide leg on a pant was horrifying, though ironically a few years later when I got to high school a flare or boot cut suddenly became all the rage as fickle trends do.  When a narrower pant leg was the rage we bought I suppose whatever pant we could afford, and she would sew the hems to be a more narrow opening to the point that it was a very tight squeeze to even get the foot through. I mean was that remotely necessary? Certainly not.  But to make me happy she catered to the style of the day.  I wonder how absolutely ludicrous she found the whole procedure looking back on it but, she did it to every pant and every hem.  It is cringeworthy now as I look back on the fact that I insisted on it, but I cannot help but smile at how much that woman loved me to appease me.

Speaking of things that are absurd that my mother did for the sheer sake of love, she ironed my hair. Now you might be familiar with the use of a flat iron on hair to straighten it. But nay my good reader, I am not speaking of an actual hair tool. When I say iron of what do you think?  If you say a large heavy flat metal object that smooths the wrinkles out of clothing then yes, my dear friend, you would be correct. My mother would iron my hair. Now, in defense of what seems to be a moderately insane procedure, apparently this was a common practice during the 60’s and possibly 70’s when the straightest of hair was what the fashionable aimed for.  I do like to add the disclaimer that I was not, in fact, the first person to come up with the concept of ironing hair. I feel that is an important note to add here.  I think it was actually my mother’s suggestion.  But yes, most days I would lay by the ironing board and stretch my hair out while my mother would mist it with water and then proceed to iron any semblance of a wave or kink out it to make it poker straight. Oh my stars at how preposterous all of this is!  And she did this without hint of complaint!  I don’t remember how long this whole silly process carried on but it was for quite a while I remember.  The woman is a saint I tell you. She says patience isn’t her strong suit but, I tend to think she may be mistaken. At least in some respects she is very clearly mistaken.  Ironing hair and tightening hems for starters seem to certainly tell a different tale.

I have to admit that this is the first time that I am really putting any heavy weight upon the thoughts of all these little silly things that she did merely for my sake.  And of course, these thoughts are making me ponder what I do for my own daughter’s pleasure.  Surely, I don’t do all sorts of things like this for my daughter!  But then again, she may or may not enjoy chocolate pop tarts every morning in bed before getting ready for school.  And there is that strong possibility that I might give her a back massage to put her to sleep every night.  I guess there is always the off chance that I may sit on her clothes before she gets dressed in the morning so they are warm when she puts them on. Hmm. It seems there has been an interesting development. Apparently, motherhood instills in a person a willingness to do the ridiculous and quite possibly asinine things all for the fleeting but worthwhile sparkles of happiness in your child’s eyes.  And I don’t know about you, but if you are a mom or had a mom, I don’t think any of us would have it any other way.