I wanted to share something that is part of the novella, Reclaiming the Light, that I just published. It's a blog post I published last year around Mother's Day on an old blog and I felt that it should be included with the stories I shared in the book. If you haven't gotten a copy of the book via Kindle or paperback, this will give you an idea of some of the things you have to look forward to!
So, it’s the day after Mother’s Day, and my mind drifts back as I’m washing dishes. I was using a piece of steel wool to scrub a glass baking dish, and for some reason I thought, “When did I learn to do this?”. I wasn’t taught by my Mother. My Mother never taught me anything about washing dishes, or cleaning at all for that matter. I learned to clean a bathroom from staying over at a friend’s house as a kid. They had cleaning chores and if I stayed over, I wanted to help in order to make it go faster, so we could play faster.
We had a cleaning lady starting about the time I was in 3rd grade, maybe earlier. Before that, we had Vivian, who had been my Dad’s Nanny, and who came and helped at our house a couple of days a week when I was small, until she passed away. The cleaning lady, Cathy, stayed until I moved out. Thinking back now, I may have been even younger when Cathy started cleaning for us, as I remember her husband worked for IBM and brokered the deal between that company and my Dad, in order for him to be able to obtain my first computer when I was 4; the IBM PC Jr.
So, growing up, I don’t recal my Mother ever really “cleaning”. Sure, she would put dishes in the dishwasher, (yes, we had one of those back in the dark ages). I know someone did the laundry, but I honestly could not tell you who. I was never taught how to do that either.
I don’t say any of this to denote that I had a privileged childhood. I guess I did, to a certain extent. But I also missed learning key things that are important to send a child out into the world knowing. How to cook. How to clean. How to keep house. How to do laundry. How to make a budget. How to balance a checkbook.
When I left home in 1995, I was 17 years old, with an infant, a car, our belongings, a job, and my own wits. I eventually moved in with my boyfriend, into his brand new house. All I really recall about that house was being very nervous about how new everything was, and how I didn’t know how I was going to be able to keep it all looking that way. The first night I cooked dinner in our new home, I set off every smoke alarm in the house and burnt all the chicken on the outside; it was still raw on the inside. I just sat in the kitchen floor and cried. All I wanted to do was have some fucking fried chicken, homemade mashed potatoes and gravy, and green beans. The house was full of smoke, the stove was covered in grease, I got burned (along with the damn chicken), we had no dinner, and all I could do was cry.
My boyfriend at the time had bought these god awful glass pots and pans, which brings me full circle. I could not, for the life of me, ever get all the stuck on bits of food off those damn pots and pans!!! NO ONE EVER TOLD ME TO USE STEEL WOOL!!!!
In 2007, my Mother made a recipe and tips binder for my sister-in-law, and as an after thought, gave a copy to me as well. My SIL can burn water, and needed all the help she could get in the kitchen. 1995 me would have KILLED for that binder. Not only does it have all kinds of recipes, it is full of tips and tricks. How to fold napkins, how to remove red wine stains, how to properly carve a roast, etc. SHIT I NEEDED TO KNOW.
Kids today can “Google” most anything. But NEVER underestimate the power of learning at home.
And I still can’t fry chicken. But after 20+ years, I’m a damn good cook when it comes to anything else.
So, it’s the day after Mother’s Day, and my mind drifts back as I’m washing dishes. I was using a piece of steel wool to scrub a glass baking dish, and for some reason I thought, “When did I learn to do this?”. I wasn’t taught by my Mother. My Mother never taught me anything about washing dishes, or cleaning at all for that matter. I learned to clean a bathroom from staying over at a friend’s house as a kid. They had cleaning chores and if I stayed over, I wanted to help in order to make it go faster, so we could play faster.
We had a cleaning lady starting about the time I was in 3rd grade, maybe earlier. Before that, we had Vivian, who had been my Dad’s Nanny, and who came and helped at our house a couple of days a week when I was small, until she passed away. The cleaning lady, Cathy, stayed until I moved out. Thinking back now, I may have been even younger when Cathy started cleaning for us, as I remember her husband worked for IBM and brokered the deal between that company and my Dad, in order for him to be able to obtain my first computer when I was 4; the IBM PC Jr.
So, growing up, I don’t recal my Mother ever really “cleaning”. Sure, she would put dishes in the dishwasher, (yes, we had one of those back in the dark ages). I know someone did the laundry, but I honestly could not tell you who. I was never taught how to do that either.
I don’t say any of this to denote that I had a privileged childhood. I guess I did, to a certain extent. But I also missed learning key things that are important to send a child out into the world knowing. How to cook. How to clean. How to keep house. How to do laundry. How to make a budget. How to balance a checkbook.
When I left home in 1995, I was 17 years old, with an infant, a car, our belongings, a job, and my own wits. I eventually moved in with my boyfriend, into his brand new house. All I really recall about that house was being very nervous about how new everything was, and how I didn’t know how I was going to be able to keep it all looking that way. The first night I cooked dinner in our new home, I set off every smoke alarm in the house and burnt all the chicken on the outside; it was still raw on the inside. I just sat in the kitchen floor and cried. All I wanted to do was have some fucking fried chicken, homemade mashed potatoes and gravy, and green beans. The house was full of smoke, the stove was covered in grease, I got burned (along with the damn chicken), we had no dinner, and all I could do was cry.
My boyfriend at the time had bought these god awful glass pots and pans, which brings me full circle. I could not, for the life of me, ever get all the stuck on bits of food off those damn pots and pans!!! NO ONE EVER TOLD ME TO USE STEEL WOOL!!!!
In 2007, my Mother made a recipe and tips binder for my sister-in-law, and as an after thought, gave a copy to me as well. My SIL can burn water, and needed all the help she could get in the kitchen. 1995 me would have KILLED for that binder. Not only does it have all kinds of recipes, it is full of tips and tricks. How to fold napkins, how to remove red wine stains, how to properly carve a roast, etc. SHIT I NEEDED TO KNOW.
Kids today can “Google” most anything. But NEVER underestimate the power of learning at home.
And I still can’t fry chicken. But after 20+ years, I’m a damn good cook when it comes to anything else.
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