Some thoughts on my parents' wedding

As I was typing up the current segment of my mother's story, which I probably heard retold hundreds of times in my life, I found myself incredulous at some aspects of my parents' wedding day.

For instance: I never thought about the fact... or maybe I never picked up on this detail... that they had no home to go to when they became husband and wife. They had to spend, not only their honeymoon night, but the first several nights of their marriage, staying with friends and relatives. Seems to me that would dampen the old libido! Although Mother told me enough stories, after I was grown, so that I know the libido was present and taken care of, no matter whose house they were in! Sometimes I felt my mom gave me too much information; who wants to think about their parents doing that?

To me, one of the best strokes of good fortune and blessing that ever happened to my mom was the little girl, Maxine, who became hers when she and Daddy married. My sister was, from all accounts, as near to a perfect child as anyone could be. I've heard, from uncles and aunts, how Maxine, at a young age, would cook and clean. She did as she was told. She had a strong sense of gratitude for what she received. Keep in mind that she was being raised in a house with a widower, five boys, and one young girl, my Aunt Gladys, until my parents' marriage. They were dirt-poor, there was no mother in charge, and I understand there wasn't that much to eat. So shortly after my mom and dad were married, someone asked the little five-year-old, "Do you have plenty to eat?"

Maxine answered, "I should say we do! We have peaches and green beans and... "

She went on to name all the varieties of food her new "foot-mama", referring to Mother (step-mother), was serving, thanks to the canned goods given to them by Grandma as a wedding gift.

In contrast, when mother gave birth to me, she had to deal with one of the most willful temperaments God ever put on this earth. My mom and I, it seems, were always at odds about something. I'll bet it was a rude awakening to her to find out as I grew that not every little girl enjoyed doing housework of her own volition, as my sister was reputed to have done; in fact, I would refuse, kicking and screaming, to do most work when asked. It was pretty easy for me to misbehave, because Mother was often tied down at the switchboard; so even if I brought her to the very edge of despair with my misbehavior, I could run away and she couldn't come after me.

In spite of that, I'm pretty sure Mother gave me at least one spanking a day, using whatever was at hand: a switch, a yardstick. Never a belt, though.

Yep. I was a brat. Still am, in many ways.

Now you know why I have such a problem with Flylady.

I did not inherit my mother's work gene.