Many of us have great memories of our mothers. I think my first memory of my mother was sitting on the floor with her while she taught me my colors using the crayon box that was really long and flat.
I have so many memories baking with my mother (remember– I married into this family). She always took the time to let me help her even though it certainly lengthened the task. She always let us lick the bowl and beaters. My job was to grease the pans and my sister got to turn the mixing bowl (I realize now the mixer was broken all my life). We always sifted the flour and helped put the cookie dough on the baking pan, and we were there when they came out of the oven. I’m smiling as I recall that memory.
One time, when I was older and in ninth grade, I was out very late. An adult asked if I needed to call my parents to let them know where I was (remember– this was before cell phones). I said, “I don’t need to call them; I don’t have a curfew.” I arrived home at three o’clock in the morning and my mom was sitting on my bed with her arms crossed, her hair wrapped in toilet paper with the hairnet (that’s what they did to preserve the weekly beehive hairdo). Boy was she mad! Dad was sound asleep. I learned then to always call my mom, so even when I was 30 years old and visiting my parents from out of town I still called her at midnight to let her know I was okay.
Bobby has some interesting stories about his mother as well. When Bobby was eight years old, he stayed from school one day, sick. There were only three television stations at the time, so I guess the ads were geared more toward adults. A few days later– maybe a week– someone knocks on the door, and his mom answers and there is a man standing there. He says “ Is Robert Jucker there?” And his mom says, “ He is not here right now can I help you with something?” So the man says he has a delivery for Robert Jucker. So his mother asks, “ Delivery? What kind of delivery?” He replies, “Well, Mr. Jucker ordered these two chinchillas and I have them here and he needs to pay me $1200.” At which point you could have picked Bobby’s mom off the floor (remember– this is the 60s). So then his mother says, “ Robert is not here today. He is in school. Robert Jucker is eight years old.” This time you could have picked the driver up off the floor for he had driven all the way from Nebraska. He then asked Bobby’s mother if she would like to buy them. Another great memory!
Cherish your memories with your mom and keep making them. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – CREATE MEMORIES!