When I was growing up in the 1980s, summer smelled like coconuts, sweet tea and chlorine. I watched a TON of TV, especially on summer break. About 95% of my TV viewing occurred mostly in my swimsuit because I migrated back and forth between the public pool and tv. I would stay at the pool with my best friends from noon to 6:00 p.m. when the pool closed. I even reasoned that it was a waste of time to shower because everybody knows the chemicals in the pool water completely sanitize both the water and everybody in it. Also, I would like to point out that sunscreen was not even invented, and I’m here to tell you that even if it WAS invented nobody would have used it back then because everyone wanted to be TAN. Nothing signifies the beginning of summer quite like a second degree sunburn. Who would…
For those of you who know me, you also know this: my relationship with my mom has never been easy. Truthfully, is any mother/daughter relationship really easy? We’re so very different–in almost every way. There has never been a time we’ve understood one another, but I think we’ve both come to accept that.As a teen, I strove to be her polar opposite. I didn’t think I’d ever want to be a wife, and I sure as heck didn’t want to be a mother. She used to drive me utterly bonkers–she didn’t understand my need for college, to get out of Springdale. I guess she forgot that when she was 18 the very first thing she did was move to Tulsa, all by herself, just to see if she could. Nobody in our family had ever broken free that way before. In the end, she moved back to be near the family and because she loved Arkansas.
I guess I understand that part of her.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to be more accepting of my mom and who she is, and I think she’s found the same peace with her crazy, unpredictable firstborn. I’ve also learned that even though I may have resisted her advice and may have believed that she had nothing to teach me, she’s been teaching me all along. Maybe I’m the one who has changed and not she. Here are 5 things my mama taught me.
1. The value of hard work. My mother quit high school her freshman year to get a job. It wasn’t because she hated school or learning, she wanted to help her mother feed and clothe her nine siblings. My mother worked various waitressing jobs and seasonal farm work–picking peaches, berries, etc.–to help my grandma feed those kids. Then, when my sisters and I were growing up, she worked at a chicken plant, standing for 12 hours a day in a freezer. I know she wasn’t thrilled to work there, but she did it.
As a result, I, too am hard working. I don’t know how to be otherwise. Both my parents instilled a diligent work ethic in me that sometimes threatens to cross the line into workaholicism. You know what they say about anything in excess?
2. Unreasonable stubbornness/perserverance. This trait has both served me well and been my folly. Sometimes I take a bit of time making a decision, but once it’s made I stick to it, TO A FAULT. I will hold on with nothing but my fingernails until whatever I’ve decided has either come to fruition or is torn from under me. Either way, I rarely give in. I rarely give up. This stubborn streak runs in my blood from both my mom and dad.
Perseverance is different from stubbornness, because perseverance is usually a positive thing. To persevere means to endure even when things get crazy difficult and complicated. It means to hang on and not give up. One way I saw her persevere was with her caretaking of my grandfather. When my grandfather became old and ill, she took care of him. Incidentally, he also was unreasonably stubborn–so much so it took FIVE heart attacks to kill him. Even though his doctors warned him to quit, he chewed tobacco and drank until his dying day–well into his 80s. I really thought he was never going to die–I thought even death was a bit scared of him. My grandfather was cranky and hard to please–but still my mother checked on him and bought him groceries and took him to the doctor. I didn’t understand why–he was mean to her, often complaining about the brands she chose or how she paid the bills, and he was often hurtful in word and deed. Yet, she never gave up on him.
3. To not waste anything. My mom is the queen of reusing and recycling before it was cool to do so. She rarely throws anything away, which can sometimes be a bad thing, but you could never accuse her of waste.
4. How to make a meal from nothing. When I look back now, I know my family was poor, but Mom saw to it we always had food in our stomachs. I never felt the sting of poverty in my belly. As an adult, I know now that many times we probably had very little and we rarely had an excess of anything, but we were never hungry. Mom never used food stamps, though we probably qualified. We did make use of the free lunch program at school, though. Mom would make the best pinto beans, fried potatoes and homemade biscuits ever. Understand that this was before anybody cared about carbs, okay?
5. My love of writing. My mom often jotted down short stories on notebook paper, and I would sometimes find them. She wrote about her childhood in rural Arkansas, her parents, her family, working in the fields, and meeting my dad and falling in love. I credit much of my love of writing to her.
Anyway, I hate it when people blame their mothers for everything and never give them credit for what good they did. Sure, we will never see eye-to-eye, but that doesn’t really matter. My love for her remains. I will never forget the sacrifice, the hard work, the devotion she demonstrated–these are the things that endure.
Hello out there! If you have any friends on Facebook or social media at all (of which I’m more than sure that you do), then I’m positive that you’ve seen their cute little kids with their end of year awards and some very proud parents! And they should be proud! If you have kids, then you know the blood, sweat and tears (literally sometimes) that it takes to get that kid through each year of school. Especially when they’re younger, you have to remind them about their homework, fix their lunches – even sit down and DO their homework with them. As they get older, they SHOULD be able to do more on their own – making their own lunches, remembering to do their homework (alone), and working hard towards those good grades.
I look at the posts my friends make of their kids – from toddler to teen –…
Are you a college student who wants to be a published writer? What’s stopping you? Here are a couple of places you might not have thought of to break into publishing, and why it’s silly NOT to try.
These enchiladas ARE delicious enough to incite mama slapping throughout the world. I can’t help it. It’s really your choice, you understand. Please understand that if you make these enchiladas, it’s not MY fault you slapped your mama and I take no legal or personal responsibility as you have been warned.
I’ve taught my daughters how to make these and it’s just sad that even living in Texas–the Tex-Mex capital of the whole stinkin’ world–we can’t find them this good at our restaurants. They have slapped me on occasion after trying them and I have nobody to blame but myself.
Ingredients:
10-12 corn tortillas
1 large can green chilis (whole or chopped, it really doesn’t matter)
1 onion, chopped
1 jalapeno (if you don’t like heat, then skip it and add another small can of green chilis)
3-4 cloves garlic
4 chicken breasts (or 8 chicken thighs–you pick your poison)
Chicken broth concentrate (I like Knorr–it looks like this. It makes your chicken more chickeny)
1 bag sharp cheddar cheese
1 tsp or good sized sprig of cilantro
salt and pepper to taste
*******
You won’t believe how easy this is. I feel like publishing this is going to put me in danger with the Tex-Mex Mafia, but I’ll take the chance for you.
First, put a generous amount of oil in a large skillet. I use an iron skillet, but that’s just because I’m Southern and I was raised that way. After it’s hot, put it the chicken, half the onion, one container of chicken broth and the garlic. Salt and pepper the chicken to taste. Cook until the chicken’s juices are all clear.
While the chicken is cooking, work on the sauce. In a blender or food processor, put in the peppers, the other half of the onion, the cilantro, and a pinch of salt. Blend until it’s a nice even green color. It only takes a minute.
In another skillet, heat some oil and drop in a couple of corn tortillas at a time, cooking just a few seconds on each side. You want to soften the tortillas–don’t cook them so long they are hard and stubborn and don’t want to bend.
Put the tortillas on a plate with a paper towel to soak up the grease.
After the chicken is done, cut it into cubes. In a large rectangular baking pan, put a little sauce in the bottom–just enough to wet it. Pour about half of the remaining sauce into the chicken cubes. Mix thoroughly with a big spoon.
Next, put a few cubes inside a tortilla and roll it like a cigar. I’ve never rolled a cigar, but I don’t judge those who do. Repeat until your pan is full.
Pour the remainder of the sauce over the tortillas. Next, completely cover the enchiladas with the bag of cheese. USE ALL OF IT. If you have another bag, use it too. You’re not driving, are you?
Next, cover your enchilada babies with a sheet of tin foil. Be careful to loosely wrap it or the cheese might stick. That would make me sad for you.
Bake in a 375 degree oven for about 30 minutes, or until the cheese is nice and bubbly. I’ve topped these with a bit of the chopped cilantro just to be more Tex-Mexy.
If you make these, please let me know! Send a picture and if it’s better than mine, I’ll use it here and give you credit. 🙂
On “Leave it to Beaver,” Ward comes home from a long day at work, and not only does June has a pot roast ready, but she serves it wearing a dress, heels and pearls. The worst thing that ever happens to Wally and the Beav is that Beav gets a bad grade on a test (that’s ok Beav! We’ll try again next time!) or Wally has to take his second choice gal Susie to the dance (that’s ok Wally! Janet was a !@#$ anyway). Just kidding…I don’t think Wally ever got turned down for a date.
The point is, the problems are never that bad, and the solutions come in half an hour (minus commercials).
In real life, in real families, it’s a bit more complicated. It’s a bit messier. It takes more than half an hour–sometimes months, or years–to work things out. Kids and parents both are damaged in the process. Relationships suffer and need some healing. This is what happens in REAL families.
We’re a normal family. When I say “normal” I really mean … normally messed up. We’re a real family.
We love each other, but we’re imperfect.
We hurt each other with our words and actions.
We’re careless, selfish.
We use the last of the toothpaste and don’t tell anyone.
We borrow one another’s clothes and don’t return them.
We hurl out insults (supposedly in jest) that wound as bitterly as the real thing.
We promise to do things (and forget).
We promise NOT to do things (and forget).
We put ourselves first. Most the time we don’t even realize it.
But sometimes we do and keep doing it anyway.
Thank goodness for Jesus.
When I say that, I need to clarify. I don’t mean, “Thank goodness for Jesus” because I expect him to swoop in and wipe the slate clean. Jesus does forgive, but our words and actions linger long after they’ve been said or done. As seen in the news recently (yes, I’m referencing the Duggars) any kind of abuse can’t just be “forgiven” and forgotten.
When I talk about “Real families” don’t think for a minute I’m advocating any sort of abuse, ever. The girls in that family, and all others who were victims, will deal with the consequences not only of the repeated acts BUT also the secrecy surrounding them. They are victims on many levels, and I’m not even talking about the extreme patriarchy that is twisted way beyond any measure God intended. By making everything a secret, it inevitably transfers part of the blame to the victims, and they’ve been through enough. Hearts hold wounds long after the scarring occurs.
But back to the task at hand, the forgiveness of everyday hurts, not abuse but just everyday life.
I do believe in the healing power of Jesus’s forgiveness, with all my heart. But I need to be careful to not abuse His love, his sacrifice by calling Him in over and over to clean up my mess. I can’t abuse Him like a giant jar of Whiteout, doing what I like then dumping His grace all over my mistakes and giving myself an excuse to do it again and again.
When I say, “Thank goodness for Jesus” I mean, I’m so grateful that He pricks my heart and my conscience, exposing my humanity, my sin to me just in case I start thinking too much of myself. I don’t want to get in the mindset of thinking justice for others and mercy for me. I need to spend time in prayer and quiet, listening for that still small voice to let me know when I’ve done wrong. When I’ve hurt those I love in deed or action.
It’s not enough to say “I’m sorry,” though that’s a good start. Jesus taught us to repent and turn from what we are repenting from. That if we don’t wish judgement to fall upon us, we must stop whatever it is we did in the first place. We must demonstrate the forgiveness with actions of love.
This week has been a rough one-nothing too serious but plenty unpleasant. Do I love my family? YES. Do I mess up? CONSTANTLY. Do I love them enough to admit it, out loud, and apologize?
Errrrrrrrrr….
That is difficult.
I don’t WANT to be wrong. I am wrong often, but that doesn’t mean I want to admit it.
But admitting it is important to healing. If I nag my kids, if I wound my husband with my words, I need to apologize, but that’s not enough. I need to demonstrate through my actions that I’m sorry.
One way I do this: Fettuccine Alfredo. If I’m feeling especially repentant? ANGEL hair pasta. See what I did there?
I know this is a horrible transition but I really want to give you this recipe, because nothing says “I’m sorry” like Fettuccini Alfredo.
The recipe I use is from Pioneer Woman’s website, EXCEPT I add cooked chicken and extra cream, because the portions are too small for Mancub and Papa Bear. I pretty much double the whole thing, if you want to know.
Now that I’ve posted it, I’m gonna watch another episode of the Beav. There seems to be an issue regarding a torn baseball card, and the Beav is really gonna get it this time.
In Leave it to Beaver, June has her pearls on and looks like a supermodel as she whips up a hearty breakfast for her family. Ward has time to leisurely read the paper and drink coffee while Wally and the Beav are encouraged to eat their eggs. June proudly gives them fresh-squeezed orange juice to go with the five-course meal, and everyone leaves for work or school with fuel for the day, lunch boxes and smiles on their faces.
That’s just on TV, people. Here’s how it goes down in the Jungle.
I’m standing by the stove in Nate’s Angry Birds t-shirt, pj’s and fluffy socks, hastily throwing together a lunch for him with one eye open (this is if I’m not teaching that day). The blind chihuahua is underfoot, betting I’m gonna drop something, creating an obstacle course of sorts as I stumble around. Nobody even comes out of…
Since I was a little girl, your deeds have been made known as the standard for motherhood and wifedom. Somehow, I never seem to quite catch up with you. When compared with you, I just fall short. I’m too flawed. I don’t know how you do it but I wish you would quit already.
The bible says you are “worth more than rubies.” I’m no gemologist, but I’m probably more comfortable in the rhinestone section of the pawn shop.
You “select wool and flax” and “converse with merchants” whom you “make sashes for.” For one thing, I’m no good at sewing and crafts, and the only merchants I seem to converse with are Wal-Mart and Amazon.com and they are fresh out of flax. It’s not really a close friendship, but we do ok. Note to self: make some sashes for the cart guys at Wal-Mart.
It’s hard to believe you’re turning 16 today. Apparently, when I blinked, your little blond Mancub self, who used to spend hours catching grasshoppers, swimming and music has grown into a tall, kind smart teen who loves games and fixing and building things.
I know this journey hasn’t been easy.
I know your dad and I (especially I!) have made mistakes, but we have done our best. It’s not easy figuring out what should be said and done and those words that should remain unsaid and the actions that should remain undone. Because sometimes, the hardest thing to do is to stay back and let the lesson teach itself.
There have been a couple of close calls–a few times I felt my heart in my throat. When you ran into the road as a toddler. When you got in a fight on the way home from school in the 6th grade. When you fell–no, flew–from a trampoline and broke your arm in one clean crunch–I heard the sound from inside the house and somehow knew that it wasn’t someone else’s kid, it was MY kid. Dad and I exchanged looks and he stepped out to check on you. The two of you came in, your arm hanging in a disturbing, unnatural manner–and you had to get surgery. They said it would take 20 minutes, and over an hour later we were still waiting.
The doctor said your growth plates were in danger; he had to operate right away.
So hard to believe there was once a time when we were worried about your growth rate.
Now, you stand 6’4 1/2 (size 16 shoe!) and there doesn’t seem to be any signs of slowing.
Sometimes, it’s hard to tell you what I want you to know. Many times, we don’t see eye-to-eye. Sometimes, I don’t do well when I’m put on the spot. Sometimes (most times), I do better in writing. So here goes.
I know you think you have it figured out. Life, I mean.
And in many ways, you do. You get good grades, you get along with your peers, you love music and your horn, you have a sweet girlfriend, you stand up for your faith. You feel things deeply, and injustice bothers you. These are all attributes that make me proud of you.
But please–never fail to listen when somebody older and wiser tries to give you advice. You don’t always have to take it (many times you shouldn’t!), but listen to those who care enough to try to help.
In just a few years, you’ll be going off to college–driving without me, making decisions on your own. I’m not worried about that. Well, I do worry a little, but I think you’ll be fine. Not that you won’t sometimes make mistakes–we all do. But your heart, your moral standards, will hold. I know it may sound cliché but I’m going to say it anyway–do follow your heart. Follow your conscience. It’s kept you kind and compassionate.
One thing I do worry about: I want you to make time for friends. I know you are introverted (I am too!) and it’s easier to stay by yourself but it’s not always the best. And you have so much to offer others: your sense of humor, your knowledge of current events, your wit. You’re so funny!
Please, don’t sell yourself short. Shoot for the stars! Set high goals. It’s okay to not always succeed — sometimes falling is part of the process. Don’t let yourself get discouraged. Sometimes, you’ll get told “No.” Even though it stings, it’s not the end of the world. If it’s important to you, keep trying…don’t let one person (or opportunity) hold you back. Just don’t let YOU be the one to hold yourself back.
Remember that big goals are often composed of several steps. You didn’t make All-State band the first time you tried, and you didn’t make first chair the first time you tried. But you kept trying. You kept practicing, and it happened. Sometimes, success is trial and error. Sometimes, it’s just grit and determination and blood and sweat and getting mad and trying over and over and over until it finally works. Sometimes the ones who come out on top are only there because somebody else (or many somebody elses) gave in. It doesn’t make you less a winner.
When you do win, know you deserved it. Nobody can say you didn’t.
I’m your mom, and I love you–and I can’t wait to see how you’re going to shake up this world of ours.
Tina Bausinger 
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