Stiff, Clean Laundry...(A True and Simple Story)

She (the daughter) was in trouble and was displaying a very poor attitude. So, I (the mother) brassed onto her eardrums and told her to take her friend home and then go to bed, her day was over.  She stood there, glaring and nettled, then turned and left.

I stood there alone for a moment, watching the storm door gradually closing.  It was then that it happened.  I knew what to do.

She would not go to bed upon returning.

Instead, she and I went into the backyard to gather the laundry which had been drying on the line.  I taught her how to fold the tea towels in half, then into thirds.  The larger towels had stiffened in the hot August air and together we shook and softened them up a bit.  We talked and laughed, snapping the stiffness into something pliable, wrappable.

As I watched her fumbling, folding, smiling - I wondered at the strong emotion I felt.  It was a kind of relief from an almost impending doom.  Like the wind from a racing car which zooms by,  touseling your hair just as you yank the wandering toddler from the street.

(Please don't misunderstand my metaphor.  I am the clueless toddler.)

You see, someone's mother whispered into my ear today.  Told me to stop yelling and just do a little work side by side.

For once, I listened.

And the reward?  My daughter's expression was happiness.  She said to me, "Thank you, Mom, for teaching me how to do this."

After, we went inside and made dinner together. 

***
My life, perhaps, is so simple that I must create substantial meanings in small things in order to feel that there is some great purpose to my easy life.  This thought often occurs to me and is what usually prevents me from publicly writing memories like this.

Or perhaps, every once in a while, I am actually seeing things as they really are.

Either way, I felt a moment of peace in motherhood.  A moment of clarity, purpose, and a sense that I did right by my girl.  And that is my greatest ambition in life, 

To do right by My Own.


(Thank you, Mom, for teaching me how to do this).