susan hayward photography : Random Acts of Mother Mind

Happy Mother's Day to my beautiful mother.

When I was a teenager, my mother took me and my sister out for burgers after she got home from work one day. Mom pulled up to the drive-thru to place her order on the intercom. Leaning out the window she said politely,"I'd like three Big Macs, please." The little speaker crackled, sounding distant and ancient, like we were calling Siberia instead of talking to a tiny box located five feet from the source of our conversation. "Excuse me?" the pubescent voice on the other end said through the static.

"I'D LIKE THREE BIG MACS PLEASE," my mother shouted, leaning closer to the intercom. The car idled noisily, but we could still hear snickering from the speaker.

"Um, this is Burger King," the kid said through his laughter. "We don't sell Big Macs. Did you mean Whoppers?"

"Just give me three burgers," Mom told him, her voice heavy with fatigue. As she fumbled through her purse for her wallet, I slithered down in my seat trying to hide. It was another moment to add to my mental list of Things I Will Not Do When I Am a Mother.

But the older I get, the more I find myself committing similar acts of what I like to call Mother Mind, those moments of forgetfulness usually caused by thinking of about three million things at once.

Take, for example, the time when I was convinced our relatively new microwave had somehow blown a fuse. Whenever I pushed the start button nothing happened. "Stupid machine," I muttered to myself. I pressed harder and harder until I heard my husband snickering like that teenager at Burger King. "It might work better if you close the door," he said. Sure enough, I had neglected that final step in the microwaving process. I slammed the door shut and smashed my finger against the start button as if squashing a bug. And lo, the microwave worked beautifully.

This brings to mind a story my friend told me about a similar experience involving a microwave. "I figured that I had been shopping too much when it happened," she told me on the phone. "It was Christmas time and I came home to microwave something to eat. Instead of entering the time to cook on the keypad I entered my PIN number." If I were a teenager this story would have made me groan in embarrassment for her. But as a harried mother, it sounded like a perfectly reasonable thing to do after a day of holiday shopping. It was one of many times when I said in all honesty, "That sounds like something I would do, too." You would have never heard me admit this when I was, say, fifteen, and cowering in the passenger seat of my mother's car as she committed various random acts of Mother Mind.

I could handle my own case of Mother Mind a little better if it didn't pop up in public so frequently. Take last week's mishap at the grocery store. I swiped my card through the mini computer at the counter, punched in a few numbers and did some other stuff, all the while trying to figure out where all of my kids had scampered off to and reviewing a long to-do list. When the cashier handed me my receipt, I asked, "Don't I don't have to sign for it?"

She gave me what can only be described as a sympathetic look. "You already signed," she said, her head cocked to one side, her voice gentle like she was talking to a kindergartner on the first day of school. She tapped the mini-computer. "Remember? You signed right here?"

"Oh my gosh, I'm turning into my mother," I said.

As I walked to my car, I recalled trips to the grocery store with Mom years before. I remembered how she often paused after the checker told her the total. "How much did you say it was again?" Mom would ask, pen poised above the check, her eyes glazed over as if in a trance. I always wondered how she could have possibly forgotten a few numbers in the three seconds between hearing them and uncapping her pen. ( This was item number three on Things I Will Not Do When I Am a Mother.) But now that I think of it, she did have a lot to keep track of. Like me, for instance. And quite often my sister, too. And for years before that, she had three other kids to count before she wrote the check and heaved the grocery cart to the car. Add to that a never-ending internal dialog that involved what needed to be done that day, who needed to be where, what to make for dinner, and how to make ends meet that seemed miles apart, and you can understand a little confusion at the check-out stand.

But you know what? For all the silly things she's misplaced in her memory bank, my mother has managed to remember the most important things, like how to make her children feel loved. I think that's because Mom has always remembered who she is in the grand scheme of things. She is what *Emma Lou Thayne calls a "milk and honey mother," a mother "with a sense of self." Just what is a "milk and honey mother"? Thayne writes, "Milk is food at the table, clothes for the back, shelter for sleep and growth, but honey is the marveling at spring, a bird, a snowflake, being ready to laugh as well as cry, being a respondent to the miracles of being alive." Looking back through my growing-up years, I see that my mother fits this description perfectly. She not only worked hard to provide us with the physical necessities, she labored to infuse our lives with a little sugar as well. When we lived in Colorado, she drove us to the mountains to watch the deer and see how the seasons changed the landscape. She spent countless hours at music and dance lessons, church programs and choir concerts. She was a room mother and a den mother. On our birthdays, she took us out to lunch and shopping--on a school day. Mom was always there to give us a hug and a treat when we came home from school. And she has always listened when we needed to talk. Or to cry.

Even though we're all grown and most of us live far away, Mom still takes care of us. She continues to end every conversation with an authentic "I love you." She never forgets a birthday, spouses included. Plus, she sends hand-made cards to thirty-plus grandchildren on every major holiday, writes sweet notes of gratitude for almost everything, and calls frequently "just to see how things are going." And when she comes to visit, she always wants to go for walks in the mountains just to breathe the clean air and, if we're lucky, site a few deer, just like old times. For all the silly insignificant items she's misplaced in her memory bank, my mother has managed to remember the most important things: the people.

And so, as I embark on a house-wide search for my keys that have been missing since yesterday, I salute the Mother Mind, acknowledging from whom it came. I really do hope that I am becoming my mother, following the trail she established long ago. Even if I don't have any sense of direction and regularly commit Random Acts of Mother Mind, I hope that I will always travel as Mom did, with a bottle of milk to feed the body and and a jar of honey to sweeten the journey.

*Quoted from All God's Critters Got a Place in the Choir by Laurel Thatcher Ulrich and Emma Lou Thayne.

Comments

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I have that All God's Critters got a place in the Choir book...love it! And I loved this post! I am proud to be my mother's daughter! :)

Posted by: shelby | May 19, 2009 at 11:14 AM

Haha! My Mom can't seem to get through the driveway at Burger King without forgetting the amount the cashier just told her between the speaker and the window! But I sometimes worry that it's not just motherhood, some of these things might even be *gasp!* Inherited Traits!

Its a good sign that Grandma Judy has aged so beautifully - If I can manage to age as gracefully, I might not mind occasionally ordering a Big Mac at Burger King!

Happy Mother's Day to my Mom, Grandmother, Great-grandmother, and all my awesome aunts!

Posted by: Kaylynne | May 11, 2009 at 01:45 AM

Your mother is, I am sure, very proud of you. I am so glad to know that other mothers experience my same daily ditzyness! Your writing is amazing, as usual: simple, honest, engaging. Love it.

Posted by: Shelly | May 10, 2009 at 08:39 PM

What a beautiful mother! What a beautiful daughter!

Posted by: Susan Sudol | May 10, 2009 at 05:56 PM

Susan - you make me laugh! I have RAMM to the extreme these days and I pray my children will survive me. Your mother is beautiful! I also love the recent photos you have taken. That engagement card is so cute!!!

Posted by: Michelle | May 10, 2009 at 03:13 PM

I agree..you have captured Mom's beauty and essence. She has always been a hard act to follow as she raised five different personalities and we all turned out great thanks to her wisdom and nurturing. Heavenly Father sure picked a good one for us, didn't he.

Posted by: Laura | May 10, 2009 at 12:12 PM

Oh, Susan, this is beautiful! What a beautiful tribute to our wonderful mother. I can so relate too. When I do stuff like that I tell people my mom was like this too, but that there is hope- she got her mind back after we all moved out!

Happy Mother's Day!

Posted by: Julie | May 10, 2009 at 09:22 AM