I often get frustrated when my husband is watching a sporting event at a restaurant while we are having dinner. It used to drive me crazy when we were dating and I would try to position us at the table so he didn't have a great view. It's nearly impossible though because there is a TV in every corner. I have a similar problem though, but it doesn't involve TV; it involves people watching, mother watching to be exact. I will instinctively watch families with children at restaurants. I can know an entire family's order and sum up their dynamics very quickly, all while enjoying dinner with my family. It's probably something I should seek help for and you're probably thinking that I should be more present with my own family! You are probably right, but I am a superior multi-tasker.
A couple of evenings ago, we stopped for an early dinner at Jason's Deli on our way home from a day at the waterpark. We have Jason's Deli down. I know everyone's order, there are no surprises and no complaining. It's nice to be in this stage of life where everyone can verbally express their desires and then proceed to get their own beverages and make their way to a table. Eating out has become a less stressful event over the last year, although more expensive, because they eat so much more!
As we had just settled into our table and I had strategically placed myself to face the rest of the restaurant, a young couple walked in the doors. Let me clarify, a young mother carrying a car seat in each arm with twin babies huffed and puffed in, while dad hobbled in on crutches. I immediately felt empathy for this woman I had never even seen before. I know men, and I'm sure his foot really did need to be wrapped up and he really did need to be on crutches, but I can imagine the tender loving care that woman has had to give that man over a hurt foot the last week. That alone would be enough to have me on the brink of a break down, and then to add twin babies on top of it.
So as they entered the restaurant, it was clear he had come from work as he was still in his military uniform, I imagined she was ready to get out of the house after a long day with two babies. She settled the babies in the booth as he sat down and then she went to order. As she returned to the table with the salad plates, her husband said something to her, I couldn't hear it because I do not have super power ears unfortunately. But whatever he said defeated her. She sat down put her hands on her temples and didn't move for a few good minutes. He may have just said, "Oh, you got me chicken noodle? I was going to have French Onion." It could have been, "You ordered me the salad bar, I just wanted a side salad." Whatever it was, the intention did not appear to be deflating her, but that is how she perceived it. As she is taking a moment to breathe and in my interpretations, "not lose her mind," cue baby #1 screaming. Yep, 2 empty salad plates, 2 empty drink cups, 1 man who can't move and 1 baby screaming because she is hungry.
So mom, who is visibly at the end of her rope, grabs the two bottles to go to the bathroom and fill them with water. Everything in me wanted to go into that bathroom with her, put my arms around her and let her cry. Then go back with her to her table and fill her drink cups, feed the babies, make her salad and let her go sit at another table by herself. That probably wouldn't have happened, but in my mind it made for a great story. She finally emerged from the bathroom, made the bottles, filled the drinks, made 2 salads, finally sat down just as the babies were finishing their bottles and baby #1 began to scream for more.
My husband had not seen this entire scene play out and I couldn't fully explain to him what I had seen until we left the restaurant. However he did hear the screams of baby #1 the entire dinner and we just had to giggle because our baby #3 used to do the same thing. We often remind her that when she was a baby she would scream when we went anywhere. Many meals were spent with one person in the car with the screaming baby and the other in the restaurant with 2 happy children still under the age of 5. I don't know which was the more preferred place to be.
So as we sat in Jason's Deli and listened to this baby screech, and I watched this tired momma do everything she could to hold it together, my heart ached for her. I wanted to tell her that this does get better. It's going to be hard for a couple of years, and you're going to want to give up, but you have to keep fighting. Cry, fuss, pout, and tell God that you can't do this day after day, but then get back up and keep doing it. Fight for joy in the middle of this crazy time, find peace in a quiet time with your Savior, ask for help, admit you're weak only to find out how strong you actually are. Noone expects you to be superwoman, so stop expecting yourself to be. Grant yourself grace and take each day one hour at a time. You are not alone, there are mothers surrounding you who have been where you are and know every feeling you are feeling. Reach out, talk about it, don't hide, embrace love.
Of course I didn't say any of those things, but I did walk over to her as we were leaving and simply told her that our baby #3 used to do the same thing as her baby #1 when we were in restaurants. Then as my baby #3 bounced over we told her that she is now the most joyful child you'll ever meet and smiles constantly, even underwater. This big smile came across her face and she simply asked, "So it does get better?" Yes tired momma, it does get better, and just know that I see you, you are not alone.
Saturday, July 16, 2016
Memories of my Grandmother
My family and I went on vacation this past week. It's a place we have been before in a remote South Carolina town. We have actually travelled there five times, as it is an annual trip. We stayed in the same cabin we've stayed in three previous years and not much has changed in that cabin. Except for a few new area rugs, it has pretty much remained the same.
However something was different this year. All around me I experienced memories of my grandmother. I had never realized certain aspects of this cabin that reminded me of my grandmother's home that we visited quite often as children. I have very fond memories of her small two bedroom home that had one bathroom for seven people.
The doors of our vacation cabin in South Carolina are made of thick, burnt orange colored wood that are lacquered in heavy coating so they shine even in the dark. It's the kind of door that makes a loud, heavy sound when slammed. The kind of door that could take a finger off if the finger was in the wrong place at the wrong time. My Grandma Smith had these types of doors in her home. I specifically remember the one leading from her kitchen to her back porch and the endless times we would run through it to go play in the back yard or play restaurant on the back porch. It was also the door used to shield important phone conversations as the kitchen phone cord would reach out to the back porch and this heavy door would provide the barrier needed to keep those important conversations with my best friend private. They are big, solid doors. The handle on the doors in the cabin were black rod iron and I remember this same type of handle on my grandmother's front door leading into her home. The locking mechanism was tricky as it had a turn style lock that one could never quite figure out if it was in the locked or unlocked position. When you're anxious to get in to see grandma, this can be very frustrating as you hear here switching the lock back and forth.
Another memory that was brought to my mind were from the dishes in the cabin. They are a simple, plain white dish by Cornelle. For as long as I could remember my Grandmother Smith had Cornelle dishes. I can remember fearing that I would break one because they are so fragile. She often would comment that she needed to replace a piece of Cornelle but could never find the right pattern. In my later years of visiting her, she had received a new set of Cornelle dishes that were a dark beige with little pink and blue lines and flowers along the edge of the plates and rims of the cups. I remember thinking how pretty they were.
The last memory I experienced this vacation was probably the strongest and that is because it didn't have to do with a tangible item. It was a smell. I love when a smell will trigger a memory because it is fun to see what the mind can recall. The cabin does not have a dishwasher therefore all dishes must be washed by hand. There isn't even a scrub brush, so a dishrag must be used. As I was washing dishes one afternoon, I allowed the sink to fill with water and then squirted classic, green Palmolive dish soap into the basin. That's when the memory hit me. My grandmother must have used Palmolive dish soap. I can remember standing at her sink, helping her wash dishes and that very same smell entering my nostrils. Add this to the fact that I was washing Cornelle dishes with a dishrag and the memory intensified. I can remember immersing my hands in warm water to find the dishes sitting on the bottom of the sink basin and being very careful not to drop one or break it. I loved helping her wash the dishes.
As these simple little cabin items allowed me to relive memories from my grandmother's home, I found it quite curious that these were significant memories at all. However, we don't get to choose our memories. I don't get to choose what I remember from my grandmother's home, just as much as my children will not get to choose what they will remember. I so hope they remember certain aspects of our home and their grandparents' homes, but I cannot make it happen. One day, they'll be on vacation and a door, a dish or the smell of liquid dish soap will take them back to a time in their childhood and hopefully they'll smile, just like I did.
However something was different this year. All around me I experienced memories of my grandmother. I had never realized certain aspects of this cabin that reminded me of my grandmother's home that we visited quite often as children. I have very fond memories of her small two bedroom home that had one bathroom for seven people.
The doors of our vacation cabin in South Carolina are made of thick, burnt orange colored wood that are lacquered in heavy coating so they shine even in the dark. It's the kind of door that makes a loud, heavy sound when slammed. The kind of door that could take a finger off if the finger was in the wrong place at the wrong time. My Grandma Smith had these types of doors in her home. I specifically remember the one leading from her kitchen to her back porch and the endless times we would run through it to go play in the back yard or play restaurant on the back porch. It was also the door used to shield important phone conversations as the kitchen phone cord would reach out to the back porch and this heavy door would provide the barrier needed to keep those important conversations with my best friend private. They are big, solid doors. The handle on the doors in the cabin were black rod iron and I remember this same type of handle on my grandmother's front door leading into her home. The locking mechanism was tricky as it had a turn style lock that one could never quite figure out if it was in the locked or unlocked position. When you're anxious to get in to see grandma, this can be very frustrating as you hear here switching the lock back and forth.
Another memory that was brought to my mind were from the dishes in the cabin. They are a simple, plain white dish by Cornelle. For as long as I could remember my Grandmother Smith had Cornelle dishes. I can remember fearing that I would break one because they are so fragile. She often would comment that she needed to replace a piece of Cornelle but could never find the right pattern. In my later years of visiting her, she had received a new set of Cornelle dishes that were a dark beige with little pink and blue lines and flowers along the edge of the plates and rims of the cups. I remember thinking how pretty they were.
The last memory I experienced this vacation was probably the strongest and that is because it didn't have to do with a tangible item. It was a smell. I love when a smell will trigger a memory because it is fun to see what the mind can recall. The cabin does not have a dishwasher therefore all dishes must be washed by hand. There isn't even a scrub brush, so a dishrag must be used. As I was washing dishes one afternoon, I allowed the sink to fill with water and then squirted classic, green Palmolive dish soap into the basin. That's when the memory hit me. My grandmother must have used Palmolive dish soap. I can remember standing at her sink, helping her wash dishes and that very same smell entering my nostrils. Add this to the fact that I was washing Cornelle dishes with a dishrag and the memory intensified. I can remember immersing my hands in warm water to find the dishes sitting on the bottom of the sink basin and being very careful not to drop one or break it. I loved helping her wash the dishes.
As these simple little cabin items allowed me to relive memories from my grandmother's home, I found it quite curious that these were significant memories at all. However, we don't get to choose our memories. I don't get to choose what I remember from my grandmother's home, just as much as my children will not get to choose what they will remember. I so hope they remember certain aspects of our home and their grandparents' homes, but I cannot make it happen. One day, they'll be on vacation and a door, a dish or the smell of liquid dish soap will take them back to a time in their childhood and hopefully they'll smile, just like I did.
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