The Day We Drove Our Mama Over the Edge

It was a day that now lives in infamy – well, at least in our family.  Although we often laugh about what happened on that hot summer day, at the time the only ones who saw the humor in it was me and my little brother, Garry.  And that was only for a split second just before Mama told us to wipe those smiles off our faces.

Garry and I had been out of school for over two months.  It was back in the 1960s when school ended no later than the first day or two of June and it would be the day after Labor Day in September before we were back in school again.  Although she never said so, I now know that my dear stay-at-home Mama had always looked forward to Labor Day.  And not because we would have a cookout in the backyard with the neighbors and make homemade ice cream and split watermelons.  After three months of being at home - day-in and day-out - with me and my brother, my poor mama was more than ready for school to begin.

Garry and I spent our early childhood years participating in a lot of arguments and slap fights.  Once Garry realized he could get under my skin (stupid of me to let it show), then he would deliberately provoke me.  And if I’m going to be honest, I liked to pick on him simply because I was older and bigger. 

 “Mama, she hit me.”  “Did not.”  “Did, too.”  “Maaaama, make her stop hitting me.”  Smack.  Slap.  “Owwww!  Maaaaaama!!”

“You are so ugly.”  “Am not.”  “Are, too.”  “You stink like a skunk.”  “Do not!”  “Do, too.”  Slap.  Smack.  “Owww!”  “Maaama!”  “Owwww!”   Slap.  Slap.  Smack.  Smack.  “Maaaama!” 

We deliberately pushed boundaries to see how much we could get away with and just for the pleasure of annoying each other.  Our parents would only put up with so much so we both had our fair share of hickory switches to the back of the legs, spankings on the bottom, and stern reprimands.

But something was different on this particular August day.  Who knows why we were confined to the house.  It may have been raining or it could have been simply too hot outside.  In those days the temperatures frequently tipped over the 100-degree mark.  Regardless, I’m sure our poor Mama was feeling haggard from the rising heat and humidity.  And Garry and I weren’t  helping things with our constant bickering. 

As Mama tells it, we had been fussin’ and fightin’ all day.  She had already refereed several arguments and slap fights.  I remember that Mama was off in the other room when Garry and I got into it over something.  Again.  It quickly escalated into a slap fight and finally one of us ended up hurt and started whining.  “Maaaama!”

It was the wrong thing to do.  When our mama came into the living room, she looked like a wild woman.  Well, not really, but that’s how it seemed to us at the time.  When she spoke, she enunciated each word as if it were a sentence of its own.  “I.  am.  sick.  of.  this!  You kids are driving me crazy!  You want fight?  Do you?  Do you?” 

We didn’t answer, both of us looking at her like deer in the headlights.  Since it was a rhetorical question and we knew better than to say a word, Mama spat out the words, “Well, fine!  You got it!”

The heat of our argument vanished immediately.  What was Mama doing?  We looked briefly at each other, but didn’t say anything as our eyes moved back to her.  This was a person we had never seen before, not in our entire short lives.

She picked up toys, opened the door to the screen porch and slung them out there.  And slammed the door.  Hard.  Then she angrily moved the coffee table over against the wall.  The small rug in the middle of the floor was flung over near the front door.  Then she turned her steely blue eyes on us.  Uh-oh.  We had no clue what was going on, but we knew it couldn’t be good.

She grabbed Garry in one hand by his upper arm and then used her other hand to grab my upper arm.  She dragged us a few feet to the center of our now cleared living room.  Then she pushed us together, chest to chest.  All we could do was stare at each other.  What?

“Fight!”  Our heads swiveled in unison toward Mama.  “I said fight!  You two have been fighting all summer and I am sick of it!  You want fight?  Well, fight it out!  Fight now!  Get it out of your system!”  Her voice had reached a high pitch.

Garry and I stared at each other and both started grinning.  This was just too funny.  “Wipe those smiles off  your faces right now!”  In a split second we did as we were told.  She ranted on, “I. Said. I. Want. You. To. Fight!  Fight it out now and then I don’t want to hear another one out of either of you again!”

We just stared at each other.  All we could think is who was this woman?  When Mama realized we weren’t going to fight, it was like all the heat deflated out of her.  Wordlessly she put the rug and furniture back in its place and stalked out of the room.

Garry and I sat down on the sofa next to each other and grinned.  Then we started whispering to each, bonding over the fact that Mama had obviously lost her mind.  There were no more fights that day.  Nor any until school started back that September (or at least none that we let Mama hear).  By creating a boxing ring in our living room that summer day, our Mama had accomplished in a matter of minutes what hickory switches had failed to do that entire summer. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve also been reminiscing, pondering, and musing on these topics:

One my early dates with the hubby
My first lesson on biscuit making

The lost art of letter writing
Cups for hot mochas.Say Good Night Gracie.
My first visit to the library with my Mama
Driving Mama over the Edge
It’s a Little Off the Wall
Crushing on The Professor
The Avocado Tree
From Baby Food Jars to Peanut Butter Jars
Christmas Memories
Theory of Pancake Relativity
The Pajama Party

* * * * *

From Baby Food Jars to Peanut Butter Jars

Who doesn’t love peanut butter?  I would venture to say that the majority of baby boomers can’t remember a childhood without peanut butter.  Smooth or crunchy?   Smooth has always gotten my vote.  Whenever I bite into a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich, it almost always will transport me back to my childhood.

When I was a little girl, Peter Pan was the peanut butter of choice in our house.  My earliest memory of peanut butter is walking through the A&P grocery store along side my Mama, who was pushing the grocery cart with my younger brother, Garry, seated facing her with his chubby little legs dangling.  He was about three years old at the time and my Mama was always looking for something that he might like to eat.  You see, long after most toddlers had left behind their baby food jars, my three-year-old brother still loved his baby food and that’s basically all she could get him to eat.  Sorry to “out” you on this one, Garry, but the truth will always come out.  What else are big sisters for?

The only other thing Garry really liked to eat was pieces of loaf bread dunked into a glass of milk.  Since he seemed to like it so much, I decided to give it a try.  Once.  Ugh.  Soggy bread is not my idea of a feast.  But my little brother sure loved it!  Mama often fretted that if she could not find something he would eat, when he started school she would be putting slices of loaf bread and baby food jars in his lunch box. 

On this particular trip to the A&P my Mama spied something on the grocery shelf.  She picked up a jar of Peter Pan and held it out toward Garry.  “Do you want to try some peanut butter, son?”  He gave a quick negative shake of his head.  Mama opened the jar right there in the aisle of the grocery store and dipped her finger in it.  She held out the small dollop of peanut butter toward Garry.  He put his hand over his mouth, shook his head vigorously and firmly said, “No!”

Mama licked the peanut butter off her finger and held the jar toward me.  I dipped my finger in the jar to scoop out some peanut butter for myself.  As we licked our fingers clean, Mama and I made those “Mmmmmm, good” noises.  Garry looked at us warily from his perch in the grocery cart.  “It is soooo good,” I said as I tried to coax him into trying it.  “It tastes like candy,” I said.  Any other time my Mama would have scolded me for telling an outright lie but she must have been desperate to find anything her baby boy would like to eat besides baby food.  But then she had never before opened a jar in the middle of the A&P and started eating before she paid for it!  Desperate times call for desperate measures.

You could see that Garry was considering what I had said because he moved his hand away from his mouth and eyed the peanut butter jar with interest.  I dipped another finger in the peanut butter and held it toward him.  He backed his head away but didn’t cover his mouth this time.  He was undecided about this brown stuff on our fingers because it didn’t look like any candy he had ever seen.

Mama and I both licked a couple more dollops off our fingers, telling him how delicious that “peanut butter candy” was to eat.  Then I offered Garry another small dollop of peanut butter and this time he cautiously licked some of it off.  He didn’t spit it out and we could tell he was testing it on his palate.  We waited anxiously for the verdict.

“More,” he said.  Mama handed Garry the whole jar.  Thus began my brother’s life-long love affair with peanut butter.  Since he already liked loaf bread, getting him to eat it on a sandwich was not difficult.   Mama started weaning him off his baby food habit but still worried that his main diet consisted mostly of peanut butter, bread, and milk.  He did finally start eating regular food but only narrowly before he started first grade.  I am not sure, but I think I may have shamed him into it with my constant mockery of his baby-food habit. 

My Mama still keeps a big jar of peanut butter on her kitchen counter.  When Garry comes over to her house, he will pour a big glass of milk and chow down on a plain peanut butter sandwich.  I’m still not sure if he knows it is not candy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve also been reminiscing, pondering, and musing on these topics:

One my early dates with the hubby
My first lesson on biscuit making

The lost art of letter writing
Cups for hot mochas.Say Good Night Gracie.
My first visit to the library with my Mama
Driving Mama over the Edge
It’s a Little Off the Wall
Crushing on The Professor
The Avocado Tree
From Baby Food Jars to Peanut Butter Jars
Christmas Memories
Theory of Pancake Relativity
The Pajama Party