Heavy hide

My mother used to pray every night, "Jesus, please let me live long enough for my children to remember me." She told me this one evening a few weeks ago in a haze of good French burgundy, as we watched my children playing on the floor.

I thought for a long time about this afterwards. How will I remember her? How will my children remember me? How do I want them to remember me?

Thinking back on my childhood, if I had to describe my mother as wearing a particular armor type, I'd definitely say her armor was heavy hide. (Can you tell I once was a gamer?) Thick enough so that arrows couldn't easily penetrate it, but not so thick that a non-parried dagger couldn't stab through the side (I achieved this once; but that's another article for another time!). Unbendable, unbreakable, but not hard and reflective. That made it difficult for me to feel like I could confide in her. When I was younger, I resented that heavy hide.

Considering this now, I understand why she wore it. I think you have to have a heavy hide armor when raising children. You have to be resilient enough to not break at all of hateful words children can scream at their parents ("You're unfair!", "You're the worst mommy ever!", "I'm running away to Grandpa's house!","I HATE you!"). If you're wearing cloth armor, every barb that comes your way is going to destroy you.  It's harder and harder to get over those cruel words. Not that I have first-hand experience receiving that kind of feedback yet, but I certainly gave enough of it out as a child.

Heavy hide armor allows you to be nimble while wearing a nearly impenetrable shell; it's lightweight enough so that you can continue hunting, running, jumping, riding, etc in it. My mom used it for work. She was a teacher, always in control, never off duty, and that made it hard to have fun with her. She was always working; when she wasn't being a teacher, she was cooking and cleaning and shopping and shuffling us off to activities. She was hunting, running, jumping - in her own way. She wasn't relaxing. She wasn't having fun.

I think where my mom went wrong is rarely taking that armor off. I very infrequently saw her as vulnerable or human. My fondest memories of her were not how she cleaned the house, cooked for us, and played chauffeur. They were of the times she took off that armor and relaxed. When she allowed herself to have fun with her kids, instead of just protecting and providing for them.

My mom taught me to paint when I was 6. I'm sure my painting expertise started much earlier with watercolors, but it wasn't until I was in first grade that she actually took me to a ceramics class with her and I painted a Christmas ornament. She was patient. She showed me how to apply the paint, ready to be fired. And it was fun. I loved it when I saw her get out her paints, because I knew she'd scored a little knickknack for me to ruin.

And she read to us. And she played the piano for us. And she went bowling with us. And she played games with us.

I will remember the heavy hide, of course, but I'm sure it won't be the only thing I remember. I will remember how she endeavored to teach us things to help us to grow our creative minds. I will remember her learning to ski because we loved it, even though it landed her in the hospital. I will remember her playing songs from "The Sound of Music" and Christmas carols on the piano for us. I will definitely remember the ceramics.

As I get caught up in the day-to-day whirlwind of working, housework, cooking, and taxiing my children places, I try to think about my mom's prayer. I try to remove my armor every now and then, and sit down with my toddler and show him how to draw Elmo and Thomas the Tank Engine. I rough-house with him or play "tent" with a blanket. I try to push him on the swing, or swim with him in the pool, pretending to be a crocodile nibbling at his toes.

I want my boys to remember me as more than just their mother, insisting that they eat their dinner or not throw rocks at the cars. I want them to remember me as a person who loved them so much that I took off my heavy hide, stepped away from my work laptop and pretended to be a crocodile.