February 20, 2007
Laura: It’s 9:35 on a random Wednesday morning when I realize it’s official: I am becoming my mother.
I barely make it across New Hampshire Street without dropping something — and I’ve added at least three feet to my body’s width and 12 pounds to my weight. I have to step through the doorway sideways.
I drag the extra weight to my desk. Plunk! Plop! Thunk! Thud! Each bag I drop heavier than the first. First, there’s my lunch bag: a frozen dinner, yogurt, a banana, and a can of Diet Coke.
Second, my purse. A full zoo all its own. It’s 12 by 16 inches, probably large enough to carry the laptop I use for work, if it wasn’t filled with at least a dozen pens, a date book, three notebooks, a wallet, cellphone and whatever else was within arm’s reach that morning.
Next, my personal makeover tote, overflowing with two cosmetic cases, a hair straightener, super-strength aerosol hairspray (yes, I know it’s bad for the environment!), my three-inch barreled round hairbrush, and anything else I may need during the day.
Lastly, I shove my gym bag under my desk, increasing the chance I’ll see it and actually get to the gym.
Relieved of the extra weight. I sit back and count one, two, three, four bags. I have to laugh thinking of all the grief I gave my mom when I was in grade school.
Now, as a teacher’s daughter, you assume certain duties. Attending the same school where she taught, we girls, would drag every bag of my mom’s up the three flights of stairs to her classroom. With every step, the weight of her student’s test papers and assignments would dig deeper into my shoulder. At every landing, I’d think, “I’ll never need more than one bag when I’m grown up.” Now, I think with all her papers to grade, at least my Mom had a decent excuse!
Lois: Passing the torch, or shall we say "tote?"
Mornings are very routine. Not being a morning person, everything needed for the next day is done and in place before bedtime.
Every morning, I walk down the stairs, grab my keys, let the dog out for a little while I start the car, go back inside, remind Dakota he is to be a "good doggie" today, fix my drink, give him a treat, pick up my two bags, and then it happens. I scan the room, searching, inspecting the counter, the table, the chairs, the foyer. I turn, go out the door, and as I pull the door closed behind me, the sinking feeling sets in that I have forgotten something.
For many years, I was a bag lady. There was a time when that was not a PC comment, but it has become a phrase familiar to every mom. We carry so much with us. It starts with the diaper bag, then snacks, a nap blanket, and change of clothes. We progress to schoolbags, activities and sports clothes and equipment, and something to keep ourselves properly clothed and busy while we assume our chauffeur duties and wait time. During the course of the day, we even collect more as we stop at the market, or run into a store(s) to snap up something we must have before tomorrow dawns. Not forgetting our own stuff, in my case, my schoolbag, as I am a teacher. So, every night before lights out, my kitchen and hallway mimicked my students' classroom closet. Lunches lined up on the counter, schoolbags and jackets on every kitchen chair, accessories on the table, and equipment bags paving the path down the hall out to the car all laying in wait for the morning parade.
We don't mind. It's just a lot of stuff, and a bunch of bags! I have no doubt it is why the minivan became so popular. We always had room for the kids. We needed room for all the stuff!
These mornings, it's almost a sad lament as I drive away, without all those bags. No bags means I will not be spending the day with my three lovely daughters, and it is the one time of day that I feel the pang of empty-nesting. I don't miss the bags. I miss those days. I miss them. I know those bags are out there, but now they are with them as they begin their own lives and carry on the tradition.
I know there will be more bags, different bags. But for now, the tote has been passed, and I need to enjoy the 50 pounds I lost.
Chrystin: I train it to work every day now. I don't know if it's better or worse by count of bags.
A bag for my shoes ('cause God knows I'm not walking to the train in my 2+ inch heels and I'm always dressed in heels for my peeps at work), a bag with all my work stuff (papers, Blackberry, files), a lunch bag, a purse, an iPod, coat, gloves, scarf.
I don't why I need all that "stuff," but I do know that the only way for me to function on all cylinders all day long in a demanding environment is to have all my "stuff" together from the start. There's something reassuring about waking up, knowing that you just have to get yourself prettied-up and grab your "stuff". Maybe that way of thinking is a product of my up bringing - and if it is I'm A-OK with it.
Each and every night, I plan out my next day. Sounds like Mom to me! Lay out clothes and pack shoes - check. Put out any special hair things and accessories for the morning - check. Dig out dirty containers from today's lunch, clean - check. Pack lunch - check. Charge cell and iPod- check. Go through work bag and locate monthly train pass - check. Morning comes and of course, I give myself only enough time to get ready, pick up my "stuff" and go.
Jackie: This year I left to go to college. As expected I was so excited to move on and live independently, but the one thing I was not expecting to feel was guilt. For as long as I can remember, I was always with my Mom in the mornings for at least 11 years of my life. Every morning was the same routine: Put the lunches together, make her a drink, start the car, pack the car, and carry the bags up the grade school steps where Mom works. I never thought that I would miss doing these little things for her, but I do.
She and my father recently came to visit me at college and we all had a great time together. My mom and I indulged in a piece of chocolate cake for dessert after dinner. My dad bought a pair of sunglasses at the mall that cost as much as an iPod. In the car ride back to my dorm I realized that my mom had a CD of mine that I accidentally left behind playing in the car. When I asked her about why she was listening to the CD, she said that listens to it frequently. That was the moment I realized that the feeling I was having wasn’t guilt, but sadness because I missed her and cared about her just as much as she does for me. I long for the days that I helped her in the morning, but they will always remain in my memory.
Comments
jcdoyle53 (anonymous) says...
I always love your stories. SOOOO true I'm sending this blog to Jaclyn.
February 28, 2007 at 8:29 a.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
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