The Silkworms

Many, many years ago I was a little girl in Kindergarten. I loved my teacher. She was young and pretty and her name was Mrs. Libby. I loved school. Mrs. Libby made it fun and exciting to learn and it was fun playing with the other kids.

One of our lessons was about silkworms. I don’t recall how we got so many silkworms for our classroom, but some of the kids in the class were given a little cup with 4 or 5 silkworms in it, but only if we wanted to do it. Of course, I did. We had been learning about silkworms all week so I knew how to care for them once I got them home. We had a huge mulberry tree in our backyard and that’s exactly what the little silkworms ate!

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I was so happy and excited to take these tiny silkworms home to watch them eat, grow and morph into beautiful silk moths. My mother let the wind out of my sails as quickly as I got into the car when she arrived to pick me up from school. She flew into a rage and I thought she was going to throw those poor little moths out in the parking lot! Her complaint was that I hadn’t asked for permission to bring them home, nor did my beloved teacher. I was just 5 years old and I was devastated that she was so angry about the little silkworms! I was allowed to keep them, but I don’t recall much about how that came about except that it was my responsibility to feed them and keep them from getting loose in the house.

It was exciting to me still, even after my mother’s temper tantrum, but I kept it to myself. I kept the little silkworms in a shoebox in my bedroom and never spoke of them, except of course to my Dad. He helped me reach the leaves in the mulberry tree that were too high for me since I was so small. Honestly, I thought my mother had hoped I couldn’t get any leaves at all so the little silkworms would die!

One day, the little silkworms spun their little cocoons and I was amazed and curious about what they were doing inside that I couldn’t see! I checked on my little silkworms day and night. I sat by my bed just staring, looking, hoping that the little moths would come out while I watched.

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I don’t recall when they actually emerged from their cocoons, but I was thrilled to see them but yet sad to let them go! I knew I had to get them outside before my mother found out. I didn’t want to risk another one of her fits of rage for no good reason. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t able to put my 5-year-old feelings into words as I just did, but I’m positive the feelings were still there.

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I waited for my Dad to come home so he could see the little moths, and he helped me let them go outside. It was so sad for my 5-year-old self to have to say goodbye. They fluttered and flew, right to the mulberry tree and at that moment I knew they were happy.

 

The Hag

Wow. I am finding some of my old writings and it’s a sorrowful glimpse into the past. My sisters, my Dad, and I had been through all kinds of hell with my mother and this particular piece I found really brought those memories to the surface. I wrote this about the time my parents finally got divorced andMom had left the state; she actually left when my youngest sister was still in high school. My poor Dad had been put through the wringer for so many years! I remember being fearful that I was going to be just like my mother and I didn’t want my kids to know that person.

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The Hag

I can’t think of a hug or a kiss that I care to remember from my dear, ‘sweet’ mother.

I remember the pain of feeling about one inch high because I didn’t do something exactly right.

I remember the pain when my mother left, but I never felt better when she had finally gone.

We all found peace of some kind, especially Dad, who is finally free.

I don’t think I can ever be free because I fear that I am her and she is me.

I want my kids to remember a loving mother, and not the hag I will turn out to be.

~~~

Mom passed away after an auto accident about a year or so after she left. She was the type of person who defied anyone who told her what she could or couldn’t do and that included laws. She refused to wear a seatbelt because she said she shouldn’t have to if she didn’t want to. She said it was no one else’s business.

Tragically, she wasn’t wearing a seatbelt when she fell asleep at the wheel. (Mixing alcohol and medication will do that to a person, as well as impair your ability to make sound decisions…she wasn’t good at that in the first place.) She was thrown from her truck and died instantly.

Such a very sad time, but in my heart, I knew something was going to happen because of the way she had chosen to live her life.

A Mother’s Love

A Mother’s Love knows no boundaries. She forgives and is patient. She protects and supports her children. Mother will love unconditionally all of her children, and that love will last a lifetime. That love is pure and unselfish. Mother’s touch is gentle but her love is fierce!

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I know my own mother loved me and my sisters but she had problems. She would never admit it and if she had been confronted with those problems she would have yelled, “There’s nothing wrong with me! It’s everyone else who has the problem.” No lie.

I know she did the best she knew how considering her own mother was a single mother who worked in a bar and on her ‘off’ time she sat on one of those very same bar stools commiserating with my Dad’s mother. Small world, ‘eh? My mother and her brother were left to fend for themselves and got into all kinds of trouble since they had no adult supervision.

Anyway, I have always tried to be a better mom to my children than my own mother was to me and my sisters. It hasn’t always been easy and any parent knows how difficult parenting can be! I’m sure as hell not perfect, nor would I ever claim to be, but I did the best I could. Frankly, I think I did a pretty damn good job!

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I don’t get to see or even speak to my children every day. I don’t even know if they have ever read my blog. I just hope that S.R. and C.F. know, I mean truly know, how much I love them! No matter what mistakes they have made or will make in the future, no matter the disappointments, and no matter the differences of opinions, they will always hold the biggest piece of my heart.

Forever and always.

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Being A Grandmother

I don’t know if I’m ready to be a Grandmother. I’m only 46. Shouldn’t I be older? I think I will be Aunt Debbie instead. I’ve been Aunt Debbie for a very long time. It just seems natural.

I think I’m a good aunt. My nieces and nephews all think I am! In fact, they think I walk on water! Will I be a good Grandmother? I don’t know. I think I will be a better Grandmother when my daughter finally decides to move out!

My daughter and I butt heads too much the way things are right now. Two adult females in the same house just doesn’t work well many times. This is one of those times. I’m afraid that the longer she stays here, the further apart we’ll become. I don’t want that. I want us to always be close.

I think I’ve been a good mother.

I know I’ve been a good aunt.

I want to be a good grandmother.