I don’t have too many photos of me with my mother when I was a kid. As an adult I don’t like taking them and I was the same as a kid.This photo definitely shows what my mother spent most of her time doing as I was growing up. My hair.
I hated getting my hair done. As I got older, it got longer. Not to mention my own hair, she also had to do my two sister’s as well. Every Saturday night we would take turns getting our hair done for Sunday church services. My mother always had her arsenal of tools she used on our head:
1) A Big Black Plastic Comb & Boar Bristle Brush
2) A Cup of Water
3) Hair Grease
We would sit on the floor with a pillow underneath our butts, as she pulled and brushed. Braided and twisted. Her hands were fast, but I was tender headed so I always put up a struggle. Occasionally there was a yank of the hair, followed by, “Keep your butt still so I can finish”, when I moved around too much.
I envied my little brother. He didn’t have to endure the suffering of getting his hair done.
Years later, I’ve learned to appreciate those moments, and hopefully I’ll have the opportunity to share those with a daughter of my own one day. Until then, my mommy & me moments with my son, include us heading to the barbershop and arguing about him not being able to get a mohawk again.
I tend to think there’s no such thing as a perfect mother. Along with life, being a mother is filled with trial and error. I’ve definitely have had my fair share.
My mother raised 4 children on her own after a separation, then divorce. Could I ever do what she did? Probably not, because at times with my one child I get the urge to pull out my hair.
Tonight the kid asked if he could sleep at the foot of my bed, at first I was hesitant
because I didn’t want a pair of size 10 feet in my face, but I said yes. Before he fell asleep he said,
“Just to let you know, I can promise you my feet don’t stink, but I can’t promise you my farts won’t”.
Being a mother is tough work.
Happy Mother’s Day!