3 Decades of being a Mom and I’m still winging it
Almost 30 years ago, I became a Mom. I was young and definitely not ready to take my place among the greats. I could barely pay my rent, drove a beat-up old Chevrolet Cavalier that spewed smoke around tight corners, and I had two savings bonds for a retirement account. I got pregnant 4 months after graduating with my undergrad degree at the University of North Texas. It was 1992 and the last thing on my mind was becoming a Mom.
I had just started a new career as a food and beverage manager trainee for a restaurant corporation in Dallas, Texas. I bought a navy blue wool suit because I thought that’s what young professional women did in 1992. I was working 70 hours a week for a poverty wage and certainly had no health insurance. Our nation was struggling financially. In the early 1990s, the United States was steeped in a short recession, even though by 1993, the U.S. was starting to regain job losses. For a young woman, coming out of college in 1992, though, it was tough to find a good-paying job in a hospitality career. It was even more difficult to find work if you were pregnant.
1993 – Pregnancy meant no job security
I wasn’t scared about becoming a Mother, well, maybe about actually pushing it out of my body. How was that supposed to work? I kept picturing images of a watermelon and a garden hose.
In 1993, Women did not have as many opportunities as men had. If you were a mother or wanted any kind of family life, you had to make career sacrifices. If you were single, or at least had a Nanny, you had a much better chance of making a good go of it in the corporate world.
If you got unexpectedly pregnant at a new job that you were recently hired for, you hid your pregnancy from your boss as long as you could because you might lose your job. Now, I’m not saying that a company could come right out and say “You’re pregnant so I’m going to fire you”. Even in 1993 that would have been illegal – but companies would find a way to get rid of you. It was an unstable time to be proclaiming that women had come so far, yet not quite far enough. Ladies, we really have come a long way in a short amount of time. I’m amazed nowadays that women are able to announce with delight that they are expecting – and share it on social media when only 30 years ago, you might tell your family 3 months into a pregnancy, but your employer? Well, you waited until you were 5 or 6 months into your pregnancy. You worried about taking care of yourself. It was joy mixed with fear.
My Mom – a true Renaissance woman
I tried for years to be a Mom like my Mom – and my Grandmother, well, I’m still trying to perfect her peach preserves recipe. My Mom did it all. She had a career as a special education teacher and worked in mental health. While at home she gardened, helped run a family farm on the weekends, had an antique gift shop in town, practiced her art as an oil painter whenever she got a free afternoon, and all while finding weirdly creative budget-savvy hacks to decorate our split-level midwestern home in Central Illinois. If only we could have had Instagram in 1975 – I’m pretty sure she would have been a micro-influencer. I mean, she didn’t live the traveling van life, but she could make a mean pot roast out of an avocado green Hotpoint oven.
My Grandmothers – A mix of wine “for medicinal purposes” and Dr. Pepper time
Okay, Nana is surely going to haunt me now. But I was the sweet, not-so-innocent granddaughter who could see through anyone’s bullshit. And that slowly diminishing bottle of wine in the refrigerator in a strictly “no drinking Southern Baptist household” which got a little more empty each night? Well, that wine, she claimed, was for “medicinal purposes”. Her husband, my Papa, probably gave her an incredible headache each day. Wine-problem-solved. I’m pickin’ up what you’re puttin’ down Nana, wink-wink.
My fondest memories of her were going out in the garden, picking snap peas and sitting on the porch in the hot Texas summer afternoons, drinking sweet tea with her starched tulip apron and teal rhinestone slippers purposefully pulling the tiny green tendrils from the spines of each pea. Those steamed peas later that night taught me the value of home-grown food because it tasted so damn good straight from the garden with nothing but the flavor of the sun. The women in my life have always had a passion in their kitchens and maybe that’s why I eventually became a Chef – to share that same passion with my own children.
My Paternal Grandmother – my fondest memories of her always go back to her peach preserves. I’m a fancy jam and pickle maker today – but I have never been able to harness her peach prowess. I don’t know what that woman did to her jam but it’s always the first thing I remember about her. The second thing is the icy cold glass bottles of Dr. Pepper that she and my grandfather would religiously stop whatever they were doing and at 2:00 in the afternoon, drink a bottle of Dr. Pepper. After all, the Dr. Pepper company, in all of their infinite marketing wisdom, told us to drink one at 10, 2, and 4 pm – every day. I’m pretty sure my grandparents did that until they died. The only way you can get the original Dr. Pepper formula now comes in bottles from Mexico. They use real cane sugar in their formula, the way it tasted back in the 1970s. It’s really good, by the way.
Fast Forward – My own kids – Time flies when you’re busy
Can I just say I’m so incredibly proud of my kids? Can I also say I don’t really know how I did it and I probably broke a lot of rules with a fat bunch of attitude and grit. But you know what? They turned out amazing, and that is the heart of what Mother’s Day is all about. It’s not really about me. It’s about them and the beautiful, strong, independent, rule-breaking, sassy, strong, feisty adult humans they have become.
Yeah, I laugh about it now – remembering the goofy times, all the seriously cold food I ate as a Mom, the pranks we played on each other, the board game nights, the soccer and lacrosse games, the Harry Potter-watching-binge-weekends on DVDs. But to be honest, it was really damn hard. There is a lot of vacant time in my memories where I know I was doing “the thing” of being a Mom. But there were also a lot of tears, stress, anxiety, financial struggles, and pain. But it came and went – and the good times – the laughter, the pride, and the joy of watching them figure out that “adulting” thing – that is what kept me going. That was the juice. I laid the foundation and they figured it out.
Was I the cushy, sweet, always forgiving Mom? Hell no. My kids to this day tell me that I have a scary face sometimes. (That was my secret weapon.) I made a lot of mistakes as a Mom. But I got better over time and I learned from my mistakes. Guilt has a way of keeping you up at night and creeping into your kid’s bedroom and telling them you’re sorry while they are fast asleep. I might have made chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream a few times solely through guilt. My kids, even today, are teaching me to be a better Mom. That’s the pact you make with your kids when you become a Mom. You never stop improving and becoming a better person, because they make you into the best version of yourself. Tears and all. And you know what? It’s so cool to see them become way smarter than I ever was. That’s the stuff that makes me happy.
So, on this Mother’s Day 2023
I want to wish all the amazing Moms, Dog-Moms, Cat-Moms, Adopter Moms, Step-Moms, Dad-Moms, Hopeful-to-be-a-Mom someday Moms, Single-Moms, Single-Dad Moms, Double Mom-Moms, Double Dad-Dad Moms out there a happy Mother’s Day – because YOU, friends, are all so worth it. You did it, and you’re still doing it, and you’ll do it tomorrow because it’s about who we really serve – the people we LOVE.
Further Reading:
Brookings.edu / Essay on the history of Women’s work and wages
Eight Laws that helped Women make history in the workforce / Forbes
Pregnancy discrimination is rampant inside America’s biggest companies 2/18/2019 NY Times
Mountain Energy Wellness Coaching 
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