My Ma was a Stay-at-Home-Mom.
Rarely, though, did we stay at home in the early days. Among the countless doctors appointments for me and my ears, nose, throat, rotavirus, kidney infections, blah blah... the weekly visit to Jewel for groceries or even the $10 she gave to the attendant to fill up the Caprice Classic station wagon at the full-service Mobil on Mondays, we were on the go.
Being a "SAHM" or "Domestic Engineer," as she preferred, Ma adhered to two principles:
One.
Dressed, ready, hair done, makeup and shoes on by 8am. Every. Single. Day. (In fact, I had only seen my Ma without pantyhose on two times in my life).
Two. Up and out of the house for store, doctor, Grandma's or wherever by 10-10:30am, or you stayed home for the day.
Some of my most cherished memories are of those days we stayed home, just me and my Ma.
...
We had a "Don't touch" kind of Living Room or "Frunch Room" (depending on if you're a native Chicagoan) at our house on Waverly. In it, there was a "top-of-the-line" (for 1981) stereo receiver, record player and speakers that heard their fair share of Anne Murray, Englebert Humperdinck, and Kenny Rogers.
Since I wasn't much of a napper, to my Mom's dismay, she insisted each part of the daily routine included "Quiet Time"... During my "Quiet Time," I could watch Scooby Doo, color, play house with my dollies, or basically anything that would keep the noise down, and would keep me from bothering my Mom. During the QT, the house was quiet, except for a muffled beat, keeping time, coming from the Frunch Room.
It was my Ma, drowning out the world with the sweet, soft music she loved, listening to the stereo she cherished, dancing.
She tapped her toes to the beat, raised both arms, hands in little fists by her shoulders almost, and swayed back and forth.
Every day, the same routine. Every. Single. Day.
I'm pretty sure she wore out a spot in the shag carpeting because she chose the same location to dance each day. I am also sure I wore out a spot in the carpet where I stood from the hallway, peeking in. I loved to watch her dance, to lose herself in the music, like nobody was watching. But I was. And I will never, ever forget how beautiful she looked.
This, I'm sure, was the only type of exercise Ma ever did. To her, dancing wasn't for exercise, but for simply a few fleeting moments to herself in a day she devoted to her children and her husband. A few moments each day she could take a few deep breaths before tackling the daily "What's for dinner?" question or before touching up her makeup at 4:30 each day, without fail, before my Dad came home from work.
...
As the years went by, life, as it does, became more and more hectic. My sister was diagnosed with cancer and then... just gone. My grandparents became ill, and then they left this earth, too, a little over a week apart from each other ...I was in a car accident that nearly ended it all for me, too. And my mother, I don't know how she did it, took care of all of us. Every. Single. Day.
But once in awhile, when my sister was sleeping, or before she headed out to Grandma and Grandpa's to care for her parents, I would hear the soft beat of music, and I knew exactly what she was up to.
I stopped peeking in on her. I knew she needed her time. Alone. To close her eyes and dance. Like nobody was watching...and I'm pretty sure during these times a tear or two would quietly float down her cheek, but because I wasn't peeking, I can't ever really be sure.
...
I don't think my Ma ever stopped dancing. Time had passed and she allowed herself to grieve the losses of her daughter and her parents, but she kept moving. Same dance moves, louder speakers, and a CD player.
I walked in on her at our new house, blasting, and I mean BLASTING, music. That time, it was Van Halen (Sammy Hagar days)... She claimed she had to turn it way up because she blew out her eardrums years ago (to Anne Murray, Ma?). I think she turned up the volume because she liked feeling the drum keeping time, sinking into some of life's most fleeting moments.
...
Today, during Jimmy and Maddy's naps, I reached for my iPod, found a favorite of hers, and danced. Like nobody was watching...although I secretly hope she is peeking in on me, from above.
