��I once received a 'new baby' card that read something like this: "Maybe she will look like you, talk like you, smile like you. Maybe she'll sing, paint or dance like you.... But she'll dream her very own dreams." The part about her dreaming her own dreams still takes a lot of getting used to. "Mommy, I hope my purse doesn't look like yours when I grow up." Those words were said to me as I drove my daughter to her dance class. She rummaged through my bag confidently, neatly arranging haphazard receipts, her slim brown fingers deftly moving over loose coins that had fallen out of the zippered wallet. She pulled the money out and arranged the notes smoothly before replacing them. At the time, the most dominant of my emotions was a deep sense of shame. I felt in some deeply affected way that I had let myself down, falling short of the model good mother/good woman.
My mind wandered over at least ten justifications as to why it was so difficult to maintain a tidy purse... I usually had to juggle two younger children when I shopped. Most times I was in a hurry and the easiest thing to do was to toss everything in my bag and keep moving. I was perpetually busy, cooking, cleaning, washing, folding, counseling, tutoring, refereeing. I even said some of that to her, in my defense, but she looked at me as though she wasn't quite convinced. Who was I kidding anyway? Pacifiers, lip gloss, nail clippers, diapers, sippy cups, hand sanitizer and cell phones all have been known to be swallowed by the dark recesses of a good purse. I've tried that smaller satchel look too. All that gave me were bulky protrusions and unsightly wads of junk (mostly receipts) sticking out. And what is with that fine dust that settles at the bottom of a purse? I can never figure out where that comes from.
The interesting thing is, I remember saying something similar to my mother a decent two decades ago, except my conviction went something like this: "I will never put on make up while I'm driving to work."
I'm sure my cockiness and disdain would have registered with her. "I will make sure I'm organised enough to get myself ready at home" was basically what I was thinking. My mother had laughed, her eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. Maybe there was something to her laughter. Perhaps she simply accepted her own shortcomings and recognised the futility of always trying to appear 'put together'. Hopefully, one day my daughter will understand what I am just beginning to appreciate–simply that parents have to cut themselves some slack. Some of us will pass on strengths related to organising and time management. Some will give our children discipline. Some will instill a deep reverence for life and compassion for fellow human beings. Some will help their children master academics.
But in whatever way we fall short, the message to our children should always be to try our best. That said, I did go back into my purse and do a little reorganising. Changing purses helps! (Ladies you know what I mean). I'll try to maintain it, but I'm not making any guarantees. As for my daughter, I'm guessing that if she is lucky enough to have a daughter of her own, she'll experience some of this cathartic self-reflection and allow herself a momentary chuckle. If you're wondering about the kind of child I'm raising–a child who wants most things to be arranged neatly or put in order, and with an uncanny urge to point out the obvious–well, it seems like she inherited that from her mother.
Tameeka Warner is an educator and mother of three. She has a Bachelor's Degree in Psychology and a Masters' in Early Childhood and Elementary Education from New York University.