Mom’s influence passes down through generations

As my kids grow up, find their other halves and start giving me grandchildren, I see my influence in their actions. Sometimes it’s good and sometimes it isn’t. Many of the things I did to keep my pack of hooligans occupied when they were little are showing themselves now that they’re adults. They may not even remember that it was me who put the ideas in their heads. Just as I keep thinking some of these things were my ideas, when really they are vague memories from my own childhood that my mother instilled in me.

One of the most tiring days for any mom is a rainy day when the kids are stuck in the house. All of their toys are “boring,” and any games we think up only hold their attention for a moment. We are expected to be magicians and clowns, doing anything we can to amuse them. We sing, we dance, we bake special treats to keep them happy, because Lord help us if the little tykes get bored. It reminds me of a nest full of hungry baby birds, each opening their big beaks and screaming for their mother’s attention while she scrambles to keep them all satisfied.

So a mother’s choices are simple: Duct tape their mouths shut and Velcro them to the wall, or turn into that inventive clown I mentioned earlier and start thinking of one activity after another until either you or the children fall into bed in a dazed stupor.

Some plans lasted longer than others, but my one fool-proof way to keep the kids occupied for a while was draping every blanket we owned over the kitchen table as a fort. I’d line up several chairs in a row and cover them to make a tunnel they crawled through to the fort. This was a great place to serve sandwiches, and Kool-Aid in canteens. They loved to huddle under the table in their dark hide-a-way, shining a flashlight up each other’s noses.

I’ll never forget the time I had to invent an adventure on the high seas. It was a beautiful sunny day, and all the bored neighbor children migrated to my front yard where my kids helped them mope around with “nothing to dooooo”.

“Why don’t you play ‘Hide and Seek’?” I asked.

“Boring.”

“What about the trampoline or swing set?”

“Nah.”

“Tag? Kick the Can? Marco Polo?”

“Stupid.”

Obviously, I was going to have to dig deep for this hard-to-please crowd. I ran in the house and came out with a big blanket, spreading it out in the middle of the yard. “OK, here’s the deal. You’re a bunch of orphans. This blanket is your handmade raft. All of the grass you are standing on is a shark-infested ocean. Quick! Get on the raft before the sharks get you!”

It was instant laughter and squeals as they jumped onto the “raft.” I didn’t have to say another word. I’d planted a seed for their imaginations to take root, and they played for several hours, eventually finding a deserted island. Yes, I was a genius and felt I deserved the Mother of the Year award.

As a mom we resort to some pretty drastic measures for our kids. Our imaginations have to be in tiptop shape to overcome some of our circumstances. Many years ago my husband’s paycheck was late at Christmas time. I had most of the gifts, but I was counting on that check for the Santa presents. On December 23 his employer handed him a bankruptcy notice instead of his check. What could I put under the tree for four kids from Santa, with only $30 to my name? I went to Les Schwab and bought four new inner tubes, blew them up and put them under the tree with big red bows. On Christmas morning their eyes lit up and they spent Christmas day tubing in the snow. Not bad at $7 per kid.

Now, I watch my own kids struggle to keep their children occupied, and pass on some of the things they remember from childhood. But I did mention that not all things passed on are good. My oldest son’s fiancee called the other day with a distinctly cool tone compared to her normal friendliness.

“Kraig wants me to get your recipe for fried chicken. My baked chicken isn’t good enough.”

What mom doesn’t secretly smile inside that her son has good memories of her cooking? But, I realize I need to have a talk with my boys. It’s OK to pass on some traditions, but there isn’t a daughter-in-law in the world who likes to hear, “Did you make this potato salad?” as he sets his fork down. “Maybe you should call my mom and get her recipe.”