Miles of Memories — Loads of love
Houston. The Friday before Mother’s Day, 1984, and our only child, Melissa, was just finishing her sophomore year at TEXAS A&M. I had a hard day showing houses to out-of-town buyers and took them to the airport to meet their 4 p.m. flight. I got home just after 6 p.m. and Freemon said, “I know you’re tired so I’ll just run out and get two Schlotsky sandwiches for supper.” I plopped down on the sofa and managed a weak, “YEA!” While he went to the bedroom for his keys I heard a key in
the front door lock. Next I heard, “Surprise! I’m home!” coming from our entry hall and into the den walked our Melissa— her purse dangling by its strap around her neck, keys clenched in her mouth and dragging a humongous Foley’s sack full of laundry behind her.
“Hey! What’s for dinner?” she asked first.
“Well, Daddy was just headed out to Schlotskys.”
“You mean you’re not cooking?” I looked at my grown daughter and the disappointment on her face. After all, she lived on a dorm meal plan every week. So, I acquiesced to her wishes and went to the freezer. I had a package of her favorite Veal Picatta in my frozen left overs, put that in the oven and began
making a salad. Having dragged her heavy sack of laundry to the utility room, she walked back through the kitchen and said from a kitchen stool, “I see an avocado on the sill – put that in! Daddy, do you have some rocky road ice cream? I’ve been craving that all the way from College Station!” She knew he did; it’s their favorite flavor and is a staple at our house.
After an hour of good food and great conversation, Melissa sat back in her chair and sighed with contentment, “You’re the BEST, Mother – I can’t remember how long it’s been since I’ve had your Veal Picatta!” We began rinsing and putting plates in the dishwasher. Afterward, she leaned over the serving bar to include her dad who was already into a television program, and announced, “Sam Houston finished their exams this week. Kathy’s home and I think Patty Olsen is home from Baylor. I’m going to run over to see them for awhile” and went to gather her purse and keys.
“What about your laundry?” I asked.
“Could you just get the first load started for me? I’ll be back later. Love ya, mean it, throwing kisses … Bye”
From the den, Freemon asked, “Why do you do this? Why do you let her get by with it? That wash is her responsibility.”
“Just let it lie … you don’t understand. The look on my face said “this conversation’s over” as I headed to the utility room to begin sorting four loads of dirty laundry. What did this child have left to wear? It was all on the FLOOR, for goodness sake!
After pre-spotting and washing, I began to iron after each load dried. Our daughter preferred 100 percent cotton. I carefully creased each pair of a dozen jeans, ironed blouses and tee’s and did the department store fold on them. I finished a few minutes before midnight and fell into bed . I guess I had just drifted off to sleep when I heard Melissa’s loud whisper,
“Are you asleep, Mother?” I told her ‘not really’ and roused for her kiss on my cheek.
“Thank you for the good supper and doing all the wash. I really didn’t intend for you to do everything.” I told her it was okay and we were glad to have her home. Though strains of a Genesis album drifted across the den to our door, I went straight to sleep. My baby was home and safe and all was right with the world.
The rest of the weekend went by in a blur. We enjoyed a long, late breakfast of French toast and soft scrambled eggs and drank an entire pot of coffee while catching
up on all her news from the past month. That night she insisted Daddy take us to my favorite seafood restaurant down in Kemah. We had a wonderful time. She presented me with a new box of Lancome’s Tresor bath powder, saying, “This almost cleaned my bank account balance …” Daddy hurriedly said he would put a new deposit in on Monday. She also told me she had a card for me but did not want me to open it until tomorrow after she left.
Mother’s Day. All mothers received a rose at church. We hurried home after lunch and helped her pack her Hundai. “It’s been a great weekend and thank you for everything you did!” She said again after kissing us good-bye and getting behind the wheel. I told her to wait–ran back inside and brought out the “care package” of sandwiches, brownies
and soft drinks to eat while she was studying for her last three exams. Watching her drive away, Freemon asked again, “WHY do you do all this?” I played a Jewish woman in an old college play and one of my lines came back to me, “I’m only a Motha.” After she left, I opened my very sweet card; ironically she had signed it, “Happy Mothers Day with LOADS of love!”
When you read this, Freemon and I will be in Houston for a visit with her and Johnny and will celebrate Mother’s Day late. When we spoke on the phone, she said, “We’re also taking you to Kemah for seafood and we insist it’s our treat.” We’ll see.
Brenda Miles is an award-winning columnist and author living in Hot Springs Village. She responds to all mail at brenstar@att.net.