Why Does It Always Got to Be Momma?

The title of this post is a direct quote I heard from a co-worker around 10 years ago or so. She is Cajun...can you tell? She was telling me about how she felt so overwhelmed as a new mother and a wife with a stepson. She felt as though everyone was depending on her for everything, and then blaming her for everything that went wrong. So she asks me that question. At that time, I wasn't married and had very little idea of what she was talking about. But I would learn....

I hadn't thought about that conversation in such a long time, until an incident last week triggered the memory. I was in the grocery store with my son. He was quietly riding in the shopping cart eating the free cookie they gave him at the bakery. I turned down an aisle and there was a couple coming in the opposite direction. About the time our shopping carts met, five pre-teen boys rounded the corner. They were all wearing those Heelys shoes and being quite rambunctious. They came rolling between the shopping carts as though they were navigating an obstacle course, sending a breeze drifting through my hair as they went by, and soliciting a delighted squeal from my son, Brock. I looked at the couple across from me. They were appalled. The lady said to her companion, "Now where are their mommas?" It was the exact same thought running through my mind.

But why does it have to be momma? Why can't it be daddy? Who knows, maybe those boys daddies bought them those shoes in the first place! Can't daddies teach their children manners, or correct them when they forget? Can't their daddies screw up and forget to supervise them at every moment of their lives? And my biggest question of all, because it is forever coming up at my house...why does it always have to be momma when they're sick, or hurt, or scared, etc?

This brings to mind another observation. My husband somehow managed to survive all alone for some time before we were married. So, why is it that he's forgotten where everything is now? Why can't he ever set his own alarm clock? Why can't he make his own doctor and dentist appointments and remember to keep them? Why can't he pick up his clothes, or do laundry? And why, oh why, is it always my fault if he forgets anything?

I've been thinking about all of this for the last week. What I've come up with is really no big revelation. Truth is, it's a natural thing for a momma to run her household. We carried those children around inside us and gave them absolutely everything we had...this is what they know we will do for them. It is in our nature to be the one that is the "go-to" person for virtually everything that happens within our family. We keep track of things. We remember. We take care of things. Everybody knows we're going to do this anyway. So why fight it? My husband doesn't have to remember, because I always do.

I am a nurse by profession. A caretaker. Sometimes I get tired of taking care of everybody, and just want somebody to take care of me. But here's the funny thing. When they do, it sort of makes me uncomfortable. It doesn't feel right, somehow. Just not natural.

Why does it always got to be momma? Because most mommas wouldn't have it any other way....

Geography of the South

Okay, so this post is just what I've observed from a lifetime of living in the South. If you look it up, the "South" is technically considered everything south of the Mason-Dixon Line. If you live down here...well, re-consider.

For instance, I have been told (by Southerners) that I am a glorified Yankee, because Kentucky is too far north. Virginia falls into the same category. I live in Tennessee now. They call this the mid-south. Then there's the deep south beneath us. And then there's Florida. I think the consensus is that Florida is not a southern state at all. Nope. Too many retired Yankees down there. Have you been to Florida recently? Good luck even finding a southern accent! Speaking of that, have you been to Nashville lately? Good luck finding anyone that was born and raised here! Everyone is a transplant from somewhere else...but most are still from a southern state. And Texas? Well...I'm fairly certain they're just a whole other country.

And this has nothing to do with any of this, but you know how they say in the South things are just a little slower and more laid back? Ahem. Have you driven through Atlanta????! Or even Nashville during rush hour? I'm just saying....

I know I'm jumping around with this post, but it all does sort of, kind of relate to geography. Have you ever asked for directions? Okay, so that's no from all the men, but, girls, you know what I'm talking about, right? If you ask a man, he'll give you the "take route 62 about 3/4 of a mile until you come to South 40 and then take a right and go for about another 7 8/10 of a mile until you see 450 on the mailbox." If you ask a woman, you get the "well, you go down the road until you come to the little market with the BBQ pig painted on the sign, then turn right and drive past that big red barn. Just after you pass that, you'll see a big field...and then you keep on going until you see those cute little yard gnomes and pretty hanging pots of begonias on the front porch. If you come to a graveyard, you've gone too far." So, here's what I don't get about that. Men are supposed to be more "visual" than women. So how come they're not describing all the stuff you will see when you're driving? Why is it that they can remember the state-issued numbers of every road in North America, but they can't recall a single street name? I'm not sure this is just a southern thing, either.

It's funny, though. For all the differences we make about what part of the south we're from, we all have a lot in common. Nearly all of us have a fierce loyalty to family, heritage, and tradition. If you are looking for those things, come on down. It doesn't matter which state route you take, I guarantee you'll find them anywhere down here.

Gittin' Above My Raisin'

Contrary to what some of my friends from Michigan think, the title of this post does not refer to anything related to dried fruit. Bless their Yankee hearts, you just can't help but love 'em!

Nope. This is what people in the South say to you right after they mention something about you being all "high falutin'." My transformation began in the 6th grade, and was completed sometime around my sophomore year of high school. How do you nearly get kicked north of the Mason-Dixon line and invited not to come back? Allow me to explain...

My 6th grade teacher began the process. Her name was Mrs. Blunsche. I will never forget her. The first day of class, she went to great pains to show us how to spell her name. She was from Indiana. She was not impressed with our speech. Not even a little. In fact, she made it a point to drill into us that people would not perceive us to be intelligent if we continued to speak this way. She also said that cursing was what people did when they lacked a good vocabulary, but somehow that particular lesson never sunk in.... She vowed that we would learn to speak proper English before we left her class. Well, I was your typical nerd. I wanted to be intelligent. So that comment really struck me, and I decided it was time to make some changes.

Imagine my parents' surprise when I came home talking about tires, fires, gas, and "over there." Allow me to translate those back into my native tongue (in order) so that you can truly appreciate the difference...tar, far, gace, and o'vare. This was huge. What were they teaching me in that school?! The whole parent-teacher fiasco began. Mrs. Blunsche stood her ground. It didn't matter, anyway. The seed had been planted, and I had already made up mind. I was going to sound intelligent if it killed me. My family thought I was turning my back on them, that I wasn't proud enough of my heritage to talk like they did. I was gittin' above my raisin'! It was the talk of every family get-together. I was gonna grow up and forget where I came from....

I still have a definite Southern accent, no denying it. But from then on, I tried to enunciate and "sound intelligent." I am now 38 years old. And my family STILL talks about my speech every time I go home for a visit. Make no mistake...these people never forget!

My Big Premiere

So, here I am. Posting my thoughts for all to see, completely unsolicited. All I can say is it sounded like a good idea at the time. If you've stumbled across this blog...stick around. I could use the company. If I said I'd pay you to be here...the check's in the mail. I promise.

You may be wondering about the name of this blog. I wanted something that would give a nod to the South...my home and heritage. Actually, it's a direct quote from my great-grandma...her answer to nearly everything we ever said to her. A good 'ole Southern sayin'. Actually, as a kid, there were a lot of sayings that I didn't understand and this was one of them. Not because of the actual words, but because of the dialect. You see, this phrase was spoken with the words all sort of melting into one another. Kind of like the French do it, but not quite as elegant in the delivery. In fact, if I type it like it sounded, it looks more like "WelllllIdeeeclah." Most people just don't understand what an accomplishment it was for me to be 7th grade spelling bee champion. I spent the better part of elementary school trying to figure out not just how to spell what my family was saying...but where the heck they came up with those words!

I'll give you one more for good measure. Drekly. That's how everybody in my family said it. Even me. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was around 8 years old and was riding in the backseat of my parents' car when my mom said this to my dad. I had an epiphany! Like divine intervention, it struck me. D-I-R-E-C-T-L-Y! Wow. I cracked the code! I sat in that backseat with a huge goofy grin on my face. Surely, I was a genius.

For those of you who are wondering, I grew up in the lush, green hills of southeastern Kentucky. My family may not always use proper English, but they are some of the best people you'd ever want to meet. I'm proud to say I'm one of them.

That's it for now. Stop in again if you get the notion. I'm sure I'll have something to say....