May seems to be over-supplied with special things all requiring gifts, sentimental cards and, if not parades, at least acknowledgement. There are weddings and anniversaries, class reunions and family reunions, graduations, Memorial Day and Mother’s Day and, in my family, several birthdays. There are fond memories connected to many of those occasions, probably the most memorable Mother’s Day was the day I brought my first baby home from the hospital. It was the only Mother’s Day I was pampered and smothered with attention. My mother-in-law agreed to spend a couple weeks helping out until I was back on my feet and feeling capable of handling the housework and cooking and getting used to caring for our new son. It was also the only Mother’s Day I wasn’t inundated with company, extra children to care for and a big family meal to prepare.
My husband preferred to spend holidays at home. It was a rare Christmas, Thanksgiving, Father’s Day or birthday he would agree to attend the family celebration at any of our in-laws’ or even his parents’ home. He wanted to sleep late rather than be up and on the road to someone else’s house. He wanted our own bathroom, his favorite chair, control of the TV set and to know I would cook his favorite foods just the way he liked them.
He also seemed to think “staying home and keeping house” was an easy job and I wouldn’t mind a few extra responsibilities to “keep from being bored.” Beginning the winter after I first became a mother, I agreed to care for a 2-year-old boy, the son of close friends whose regular babysitter was a little too aggressive in her notions of discipline. (It was also time for potty-training, requiring loads of patience, and a new undertaking for me, as well.) Next came a high school dropout, a young girl needing part-time work and a place to stay. She occupied our guest room and helped around the house, babysitting our, now, two little boys from time to time when I had appointments or meetings. Our arrangement required her to finish high school. I felt I had suddenly acquired a teenage daughter and even sewed a prom dress for her. She failed to finish school, found a better job and left us after about a year.
Next was a former business colleague with several rowdy boys and a wife on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Someone (I don’t like to point fingers, but you can probably guess who,) assured his old friend, since he couldn’t afford a real vacation, he should bring his wife and sons to stay with us for several days. The wife could rest, I would cook and entertain the children with trips to the park, Lake Macbride and maybe the drive-in for ice cream. I now had three sons and a daughter, and with our “guests” a total of eight children. There was blood, tears, broken toys and missing treasures. After I glanced out the window and saw one of the visiting terrorists standing on our picnic table and peeing on my daughter’s head, I packed up my four kids and phoned my husband at the office to tell him I was going to Graettinger to spend the next couple weeks with his parents. I explained to our “guests,” I promised a week with the grandparents before swimming lessons started the next week. We stayed with the grandparents until I felt I could laugh about the experience and returned home to find the house still standing. The only damage I found was lipstick smeared on one of my oil paintings. My friend, who knows about cleaning artwork, told me to wipe it off with acetone which worked just fine.
We had five more young adults after that stay with us for varying lengths of time, a friend’s daughter who did not get along well with her step-mother, a niece and two nephews from my husband’s family attending college and looking for part-time jobs, and a young woman who worked in my husband’s office while going to college. She was the most satisfactory of our many “adoptees” and stayed with us until she graduated before going back to her hometown to plan her wedding.
Somewhere in there, I found time to be a den mother to a couple bunches of Cub Scouts. I guess I’ve done my share of mothering.
A former volunteer and substitute teacher in the Solon schools, Milli is an artist and a poet living near Morse creating unique greeting cards and handmade books.