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Momma had to be the most patient person in the whole world. She made the “mistake” of telling my brother and I that we were loved and precious. She made a point to tell me I could have a hug anytime I wanted just for the asking.
So I did. Constantly. I determined that I would take any measure necessary to prove or disprove what she said. In fact, my favorite manner to test her was to wait until Momma had her arms elbow deep in dishwater apply her famous “elbow grease” to a pan.
“Momma, I need a hug.”
Momma would calmly rinse her hands, dry them, and give me a right proper hug—the best kind—and even kissed the top of my head. I’d go somewhere in the house and wait a few minutes.
“Momma, I need a hug.”
“But I just gave you one.”
“I really need another one.”
“Okay, let me dry my hands.”
The second, third, fourth, and every subsequent hug thereafter was just as meaningful to her as the first. I couldn’t ruffle her feathers no matter how hard I tried. I could get her to sigh, breathe deep, and maybe cause her to mutter in her thoughts about how trying such a child might be, but I could never get her to deny me a hug, or to give up on me. She would still tell me how precious I was to her, how much she loved me, and that she was thankful to have a little girl.
Then I became a hug. I determined from the first step my daughter made that I would not be like my mom—I didn’t have the patience or determination to do so and I would not let them take advantage of me the way I had taken advantage of her.
At one time or another I’ve told each of my four kids that I love them very much, they are precious to me, and I’m very thankful to have them. But I also told them about what I did to my mom, and that as much as I loved them, they could wait until I got to a stopping point with whatever I was doing and they would have all the hugs they wanted.
Don’t worry, I believe each of my children has found a different way to make sure what I tell them is true. I won’t try to guess what each of them tried, but seeing my own traits in them quite assures me that they tested me. Did I pass? Maybe, but I do know this---there are worse things than stopping fifty times in the middle of washing the same pan because your child says,
“I need a hug, Mom.”
(c) January 30, 2009
