When I was a little girl, maybe 9 or 10 years old, my Granny was visiting from Austin. At some point during her visit I used the last of the toilet paper roll and failed to put a fresh one on the holder. She reprimanded me for it, and being stubborn and full of hurt I ran off to pout. Later, we sat next to each other on the stairs and she gently told me that my Mom needed lots of help (my Dad was not often home) and that I really needed to act responsibly in order to help her out. Tearfully I nodded and cuddled into her. I had never been reprimanded by my Granny before, and that hurt more than anything else. But I never forgot the message. I do not know if I helped my Mom out more around the house but I have never again failed to sort out a new toilet paper roll on an empty holder.
These days I gaze at my nine-almost-ten year old daughter and I think about that message. I think about strawberries. I think about ipads and tablets and computers we never had in the eighties, and this entitled world we live in.
I never eat the strawberries. I buy them for her. I cut them up into pieces and serve them with yogurt (not sugar dumped on top like my own Mom used to do!). Sometimes she takes them out of the fridge and eats them without even washing them (egads!) She fails to put the dish in the sink. She doesn’t throw the carton away. She needs a lot of reminding to do these things. Sometimes I want to scream and throw my hands up in despair. Sometimes I want to cry because she no longer has her Granny that she adored to reprimand her and teach her life lessons. Sometimes I pick the dish up or throw away the carton for her, simply because it’s easier and I’m tired of yelling. I’m doing her a disservice when I do this, I know. But a Mom can only do so much.
These are the things I want her to remember:
Girl, take the trash out. If it’s full, remove it and put a fresh bag in. Kitchen, bathroom, your bedroom, whatever. You can do this.
For the love of Pete dry off before you exit the tub or shower. A wet floor is disgusting and this is not a hotel.
Please please please take your underwear out of your pants. Will you still be doing this when you’re 22? Please God, help her see the light.
Hang up your wet towel (we are making progress on this one!). I paid a lot of money for these carpets and someday you’ll stand on your own brand new carpet and silently (or not so silently) scream at your own children (and perhaps your husband) to HANG UP YOUR TOWEL. It physically hurts to see it on the floor.
Don’t leave trash in your room. Especially on your bed. Take pride in your surroundings. Someday you’ll be old enough to drive and if your car stinks like take out and looks like a dump no one will want to go anywhere with you. If your first apartment mimics your filthy car I promise you I will not come over to clean it. Or buy you nice things. In fact I will probably stuff the TV remote down the couch cushions and leave crumbs in the guest bed, my towel on the floor and an empty popsicle box in the freezer.
When you are older… please learn to make a bed. When you stay at someone’s house they will expect you to leave the room you stayed in tidy. Again, it’s not a hotel.
Because of this technological age we live in, she is both less mature and more worldly than I was at this age. I was naive and sheltered, protected by my nuclear family in an Army-based world. She can work a computer and a phone better than I can. She can connect online with her friends to play games. She can create a masterpiece in Minecraft. She has lived in the same place all her life and never had to start over in a new town, with new people. She has an older sister and a nephew. I had a brother who tortured me and made me tough. She’s had ponies that have made her tougher.
I would have thought I’d died and gone to heaven if I got to help out at a real life stable every day. She’d rather play Star Stable on the computer than muck stalls. This isn’t to say that she doesn’t run around feral much of the time, outside with no shoes on and climbing fences and digging in the dirt. I had those experiences, too. She is lucky that way. She can drive a golf cart and feed the horses. She can scrub a water trough. In a way she has more responsibilities than I ever did.
I’m not sure she’s ready to read this post. But I’m going to give it to her anyway. Maybe the words will sink in. Maybe she’ll see that I die for her every time she says she misses Grandpa. Maybe she’ll understand more that helping around the house is so important, because I never eat the strawberries.
