Somewhere, my mother is smiling that smug smile that ONLY mothers can smile with such maddening motherness.
When I was growing up, my mother whipped up curtains, throw pillows, dresses for Debby and me, skirts and dresses for herself, and yep, even Barbie clothes, on this old brown Singer sewing machine. At some point when her children were gone and she had more disposable income, she bought herself a new machine. My sister was not allowed near anything that plugged in–she was the Grim Reaper to small appliances–and even though I’d been banned from the Singer for breaking too many needles sewing shit on my blue jeans in high school, she gave me the sewing machine.
I hauled that thing around through college and graduate school, never using it, and at some point, I donated it to Goodwill. I didn’t realize that it was one in a long line of what we call “Mother Gifts”: that is, she gave them to us, but still considered them hers. When she found out the machine was gone, she was aghast:
You gave away MY sewing machine?
Well, no, it was MY machine. You gave it to me.
Not to give away! I’d have taken it back. That was the best machine I ever owned.
Who knew?
I don’t sew, so recently, when we emptied her apartment, I wasn’t inclined to hold on to her latest sewing machine, even though Tom and I had it reconditioned and repaired for her at Christmas year before last. I asked Tim if he wanted it, and he declined, so off it went to a consignment shop, where it sold immediately.
Now there’s nothing that we could use more than a freaking sewing machine.
Mother: 2
Becky: 0
I own an old white that a woman gave me – it is hideous and sews and sews (straight lines front and back only) – and it weighs a ton and my son complains and then sews on it too 🙂 He is threatening to buy a serger soon ::hee hee::
Don’t you hate when they’re still right, even from the great beyond? On the other hand, it lets you gently know things haven’t changed all that much with transition. My sister and I crack up over the weird stuff our mom “planted” in her belongings as we slowly go through it all (she’s been gone two years this coming late November). You could call us delusional — we frankly don’t care — but my sister and I and our dad have had frequent synchronitic reminders that she’s “not gone, just gone on before.”
We alternately laugh and weep, Becky… that seems to be the way it works; it’s normal and expected. But we’ve also had dreams and signs that are so blatant that we simply accept them, without brooding around too much for a rational explanation.
As a mom, I wish I could figure out how to make those kind of moments happen now, to my son…
Mama’s are always there. No matter what. 😉