In 2003 I moved into my own apartment after living with the same woman for 9 years. It was a huge adjustment, and very exciting, and thanks to Craig’s List I found an amazing situation for myself. My mother was so excited for me, so involved. She came down and went through the whole move with me … It was her contention that as long as, by the first night, your kitchen and your bathroom are all set up – you will be fine. So even as my movers were lugging my furniture all about, my mother was tearing through boxes marked “KITCHEN” and “BATHROOM” – and hurriedly putting things away – scrubbing the tub, scrubbing the insides of cabinets – all while I was consumed with playing Traffic Cop for my movers. My mother made the transition unbelievably calming. I was so grateful to have her there.
But more on this whole move:
My dishes/pots/pans have always been hand-me-downs, unimportant. I buy crap dishes at flea markets, I don’t have a ‘set’ of anything.
But as my move approached, my mother got it into her head that I should have a nice set of dishes. I should have a pattern that I wanted, I should pick out dinnerware for myself – with no concern for cost.
I’m not married. Married people get that stuff at their shower. But what happens if you never get married, AND if you have no money? Does that mean you never get to have a nice set of dishes that you like?
So my mother took me out shopping. Basically, it was like my own personal shower. We had such a good time together – she took me to shops in Rhode island, and I picked out all the stuff I liked. Stuff that spoke to me.
I picked these great big chunky plates, painted this heavenly color – a periwinkle blue. I picked these tall water glasses, with autumn leaves wrapping around them. I picked placemats- a pale lavendar color. I also got the silverware I wanted – nice solid silver. (I’ve always had crappy silverware – I never could justify the cost – I’d buy 10 crappy forks at a church flea market and call it a day.) So I cherish my beautiful silverware that my mother bought me.
We were both suffused with girlie excitement.
But let me tell you the deeper thing: I was so moved at how much my mother wanted to give me something. It meant the world to her – to give me what I wanted – to hear me say, “Oh, aren’t these pretty?” (about the autumn leaf glasses) – and then be able to say, “Let’s get a couple of them. You like them. Let’s get them.”
As is probably obvious, I am stridently independent and have been on my own for a long time. It is not often that my mother gets to GIVE like that to me, and it meant so much to her.
It’s hard for me to accept gifts – but I also could feel, in my heart, how happy it made her to be able to give me something I wanted. So i was able to accept.
But here’s the coda to this whole story about my dishes – and why I wanted to write about this in the first place:
A month or so later, my parents drove down to New York, to all of us who live here, and to see what I had done to my place. My mother had already seen my apartment, my father had not.
Now as I write this, I am fully aware that there are people on this earth (many of my friends included) who have parents who could not give two shits about “seeing” their child’s “new place”. Some people just don’t have that parental involvement in their lives. I do. And my God. My God. I am fully aware of how blessed I am. How amazing my parents are. Truly. When I was in my 20s, trying to break free, it felt like a burden, at times. Like: “Jesus, other parents aren’t so INVOLVED….why are MINE???” But now, of course, I see how fortunate I am. And was.
My parents arrived. I was so excited to have them see my place, to have my dad see it for the first time, to have my mom see what I had done to it. I loved being able to have them both sit in my kitchen, to serve them drinks, to be all set up.
My father took one look around my main room – with the hard wood floor, the ceiling fan, the patterned ceiling, and the PILES AND PILES OF BOOKS – and said, in his understated calm way, nodding his approval, “Good. Good.”
But what I want to talk about is my mother.
I was in the kitchen with my mother, so excited to show her what I had done, how I had set things up, where I had put things.
And this is what is extraordinary about this woman – or one of the many extraordinary things:
NOTHING was boring to her.
I know mothers who are bossy, who come into their child’s space and immediately re-arrange things, or criticize. I know these kinds of mothers. Bitchy petty controlling mothers. My mother could not be petty if you paid her a million dollars. My mother would turn down the cash. She would not do it. Her inner compass is too strong.
If her child is excited about something, then she is excited. (Well, let me re-phrase. If I came to her and said, “Omigod, I am so excited about how much blow I am doing right now!!” she would not be excited. She has her limits.)
I opened my cupboard and said, smiling, “And here are my dishes!!”
Now: reminder: SHE had bought me those dishes. She had already SEEN those dishes!!
And yet -she took one of the dishes out, and said, “Oh, gosh, they are so pretty.”
I don’t think I’m describing this right. I am sitting here with tears running down my face, and I don’t feel that I’m describing this.
Let me try to get clear:
She was the one who bought me the dishes. She had already seen them. And yet she was excited to see them placed in my new cupboard. She was right there with me, in my excitement.
Here is what that moment with the Periwinkle Dishes meant to me, and what it says about my mother:
My mother is ALWAYS doing her best. ALWAYS. I cannot say that I am always doing my best. There are many times when I am jealous, when I am bitter, when I let negativity overcome me. But my mother – without EVER being a pious self-righteous woman (and that’s the whole point – that’s the whole point – her ego is not wrapped up in her “righteousness”) is ALWAYS doing her best. In every moment in life, we are faced with a choice: Should I go the high road or the low road? My mother probably knows better than I do, but I have never known her to take the low road.
I am not saying that she is perfect. Of course not. But I am saying that she is always doing her best in any given moment. Always. It has taken me YEARS to realize this about her. YEARS.
Another mother would have either scoffed at my dish placement, or would have squashed my excitement, “Yes, I know what they look like. After all, I paid an arm and a leg for them.”
My mother just ooohed and aahed over how pretty they looked in my cupboard.
I told my sister Jean this story once, and Jean said, “You know … it’s actually kind of holy, isn’t it.” In the true sense of the word, yes. It is.
Grace. My mother teaches me grace.
Happy mother’s day, mar mar.
A very gentle and strong woman- all rolled into one! I love that she has found space for herself in order to do her painting. Very, very important in a woman’s life. What a wonderful mom- Happy Mother’s Day, Big Sheila!!
Such a lovely and loving tribute, Sheila, to your ma. And I especially like how you center things, as it were, on the plate(s). Makes me think of a small, largely unrelated detail about a plate in “White Dump,” a short story by Alice Munro. (Even in the story that detail doesn’t have much to do with what happens, but for some reason it always stays in my mind). And speaking of mother–or, rather, motherlands–part of what felt like a ten-hour dream I had last night involved you ushering me through and past various roundabouts in Dublin, the streets awash with rainwater and trash. And I think I was transporting some sort of cardboard box to god knows where containing god knows precious what. Jewels, infants…who knows. Anyway, what a meaningful coincidence it was to have awoken to read your post on your mom in the wake (as it were) of that dream. Psychically rhyming Irish luck, I guess.
Beth – and a happy Mother’s Day to you, too, dear friend!
Jon – I love that dream! That’s so hysterical! I would be happy to escort you with your box of jewels and infants any day.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mrs. O’Malley! You’ve obviously done a marvelous job in that department!
I love girly shopping with my step-mom. We always have a blast and completely exhaust ourselves doing it. We don’t get to very often now that she lives in another state. But she’s definitely not laid back like your mom when it comes to my apartment. Let’s just put it this way – the next time I move, I’m not telling her until it’s done and I’m completely unpacked and settled.
I don’t even know your mother, Sheila, but I feel such warmth and affection for her. I will *never* tire of this story.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mrs. O’Malley!
I love this story, Sheila.
And it reminds me how fortunate I am to have the mother I have as well.
What a beautiful post! Your mom is lucky to have you, too. It’s really moving to read someone talking about their mother with love, without being ashamed of the sentiment, and honouring her character. A lovely mother’s day gift for her!
How lovely! Inspiring description also… I love your mom without meeting her from it.
“Omigod, I am so excited about how much blow I am doing right now!!”
Sheila–that is lol hilarious.
Your Mom is a saint. Like mine. Saints.
Amen to Mike’s comment. Saints. Aren’t we stupidly lucky?
I remember when you first moved to NY and came to live with me and Maria. Your mom came down to visit you and her effusive gratitude to us for putting you up and “taking care of you”, was somewhat of a shock to me. For me it was no big deal to have you live with us, of course you were, we loved it, but for her it was a big deal and her genuine gratefulness stuck with me all these years. I saw a mother whose love was “holy”.
I also will never forget the card she sent me when my dad died.
This is just beautiful Sheila. That kind of grace is such a rare and wonderful quality. I have met so few people in my life who truly possess it. Your mom sounds just lovely. You are so fortunate both to have her and that you realize what you have in her is so special. Thank you for sharing this.
My parents did something similar for me when I moved to the place I lived now – this was the first “real,” presumably permanent living-on-my-own.
They let me pick out flatware and dishes and towels and everything and paid for them for me. And I wasn’t to pick the cheapest of anything; I was to pick stuff that was good quality.
And you know, emotionally, that was very important to me. It was like, “OK, so my parents accept that I’m not married. They’re OK with it. They’re not going to ‘punish’ me by making me live with the old hand-me-down towels that I took to college with me.”
Because at that point I was feeling very fragile and screwed up about “still” being single – my (YOUNGER) brother had married six months previously, and four months BEFORE that I had broken up with the most-serious boyfriend I’d ever had. So their doing that for me helped me see that my current “life path” was OK, even if it wasn’t what I had expected…
ricki:
So their doing that for me helped me see that my current “life path” was OK, even if it wasn’t what I had expected…
So so beautiful. Isn’t that the greatest gifts that parents can give us – once we become adults? It really means so much.
What a beautiful tribute to your mom! She is all you say and more. How wonderful that you can use your special talent to honor her. She is strength and grace personified and has a marvelous wit that would be hard to match. We all love her.
A happy belated Mother’s Day to all moms!! (we celebrate Mother’s Day in October down here in Argentina).
What a moving tribute to your Mom, Sheila… you know, of course she is unique, but when you wrote: “I am not saying that she is perfect. Of course not. But I am saying that she is always doing her best in any given moment. Always.” I had tears in my eyes… I felt you were describing my own Mom; she has that quality as well, unlike me. I wish I had inherited it from her, it’s such a gift…
I am a little sensitive on the issue of mothers, since my own mom has recently been diagnosed with a terrible disease. And that’s why I find your tribute so moving – your love for your mom shows plainly in your words, while I don’t have the words to express all the love that I have for my own mother. Although I love her more than anyone in the world, I guess.
That nothing you “do” or “say” is boring to Grace is a tribute to your mother. The fact that you recognize and acknowledge this is a tribute to yourself. Happy Mothers Day to you, Her daughter…
Referred here by the Dame. Amazing post…. Your mother sounds like a remarkable woman.
And the dishes sound lovely!
Ceci – I’m so sorry to hear about your mother. Words are inadequate in any language to express how sorry I am.