Monday, October 4

Indescribably Undomestic: this is a true story


This is not me. Neither is it my mother. My mother was a single parent and a teacher and a Habitat for Humanity board member and a church Deacon and a hundred other things. She was interested in teaching me about different cultures, about giving to others, about what it means to be a child of God. She cultivated my love of reading, my love of music, my love of tradition, my love of family.
She did not, however, teach me to clean. Anything. At all.
Our kitchen counters overflowed with snacks. You would risk your life (or at least your unbruised forehead) when you opened any cabinet. To me, "hall closet" is synonymous with "junk repository."
You get the point.
Our house was messy.

Tale is told that my no-nonsense, mink coat-wearing, alcoholic, benevolent grandmother blew into town from Chattanooga when I was around the same age my Ladybug is now. I was always my father's mother's favorite grandchild. She terrified and thrilled me. She painted my fingernails a bright hooker red once, after my mother specifically forbade it. She let no man, woman, or child tell her what was what. She was six feet tall in flats. She did the what telling.

My Granny 'Nita loved my mother, and continued loving her daughter-in-law long after "ex" became her permanent prefix. I think my Granny terrified and thrilled my mother, too. In an attempt to impress (or, at the very least, not disgust) my grandmother, Momma began frantically cleaning her always-cluttered-yet-oddly-inviting home.
My mother made a big show of wiping down countertops and vacuuming the carpet. I'm sure I was flitting about, showing Granny 'Nita all of my very special and supremely important things
It all went downhill when my mother left the kitchen and returned with a mop and bucket in hand.
"Momma, what's that?" I asked.
"Oh honey, you know what this is, it's my mop!" she replied, surely giggling to cover her embarrassment.
"A mop? What does that do?"

And then my mother sent me off to play somewhere while she washed the tile, as my Granny 'Nita just stood there and smirked.



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2 comments:

  1. Too. Freaking. Funny.
    My hubs makes fun of me because I too never learned to clean. But, at least I knew what a mop was!

    ReplyDelete
  2. your husband must be lucky,(for other things), but he loves you, anyways.

    ReplyDelete

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