JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: I have a confession to make. Despite having three kids and getting a steady stream of school-made crepe paper bouquets, hand-drawn cards (Ross was in charge of wrangling this project) and dollar store gifts wrapped in tissue, I always feel a little bit like an imposter when I'm receiving Mothers Day benisons.
Because, of course, for me, Mothers Day was about my own mother, Lois Fleming. I had college and grad school years where I made reverse-charge phone calls, and young mother years where I sent too-expensive gifts because I was guilty I didn't call enough. In the last decade or so before my Mom died, we fell into a good rhythm - I had a wonderful local florist deliver little potted gardens that she could grow indoors, and we talked multiple times a week.
I loved my mom and she drove me crazy. She assumed raising me gave her a lifelong permission slip to let me know when my hair, weight and child-rearing techniques were wrong. She saw my potential always; when I was a distracted teen not getting the grades I should and when I was wondering if I might be a writer. She was my fiercest advocate, pushing my books on everyone and anyone, and she was also the Queen of Passive Aggression, who reminded me on at least eighty occasions about the one time I forgot to send her one of my author copies and she had to buy the book herself. In the style of Catholic saints' days, my brother and sister would call her Lois Fleming, Mother and Martyr.
She was ridiculously funny, kind of a cross between Carol Burnett and Joan Rivers, and my sister and I can still crack each other up by referencing one of her jokes or making one of her faces. She would also say things that literally left me crying after I hung up the phone.
I once said Enough, with Ross's encouragement, and didn't speak to her for six months.
My sister brokered a peace, and we all met up for a weekend at my house. Mom brought her favorite Finger Lakes wine, and we all pretended nothing had happened, and after that, we fell right back into being friends again.
She was widowed, remarried, divorced, and back living in her own mothers house with three kids by the time she was 34. She never let us kids realize how poor we were in those years before she married a third time, and despite having to go most of a winter driving with the windows open because she couldn't afford to fix the defroster, she banked every single Social Security Survivors check that came for me - so when it was time for college, I could get two degrees, take internships and study abroad with zero debt, because that money was there for me.
She taught anyone who would listen about pinching pennies, saving and investing - my oldest credits her Grammy's advice for enabling her to buy a house by herself at 29. She and dad sent generous checks for birthdays and Christmas and nothing else despite their wealth, a policy that was both liberating and frustrating. Some of their kids suffered real hardships that could have been avoided.
On the other hand, she wouldn't spend the money on herself, either, despite urging from her children. When I helped dad clear out her closets, I found six unopened bottles of shampoo she had gotten buy-one-get-one-free plus a fifty percent off coupon.
My parents had eight kids between them, and left us all a very generous sum when dad passed away last year. I wish I had less, and that she had taken one more Caribbean cruise and one more trip to Europe.
She died suddenly and unexpectedly of a stroke, en route from DC, where my brother and sister live, to her home in upstate NY. Her three children and two of her grandkids were there. My sister and I sat on either side of the bed and held her hands and told her she looked great, despite the ventilator. Appearances mattered a lot to her, and even on her deathbed, her hair, makeup and manicure were impeccable. She would have liked that.
My mom drove me crazy, and I loved her. I miss her - the real person she was, flawed and fabulous - and I hope I make as good use of my time on earth as she did.
Happy Mothers Day, Mom.
Happy Mother's Day . . . . .
ReplyDeleteThe same to you, Joan!
DeleteA truly lovely tribute, Julia . . . it made me laugh, it made me cry . . . your Mom sounds like a wonderful Mom!
DeleteSuch a lovely tribute, Julia. Thank you for sharing your mom with us. What a beauty she was!
ReplyDeleteYes, our moms do frustrate us - and also teach us and bring us joy.
Annie Tunstall was a friend (and a Friend) and one of my "alternate moms" whom I helped out a lot in her last couple of years. She never wanted to run out of her Estee Lauder face cream and would ask me to pick up more at CVS. When she was in the nursing home and couldn't get her hair done any more (she could barely move at all without pain), I stopped by one morning with my hair cutting scissors. First I helped her eat her breakfast, then I trimmed her hair. After we washed her face and put on that cream, she said how much better she felt.
DeleteAnnie had a strong belief she would be with her beloved Richard, who'd died two years earlier, in heaven. She passed that very evening, and I think she finally let go partly because she now looked good enough to meet him.
Edith, that makes me think of my mom's tales of her grandmother McEachron, who, to the end of their days, would change into a fresh dress, comb her hair, and put on a little powder and scent before "her Garry" came home.
DeleteI love this. It goes to show that each and every one of us is a mass of complications, doesn't it?
ReplyDeleteSo much, Anon. So much.
DeleteJulia, your testimony moved me to tears.
ReplyDeleteHappy Mothers Day everyone !
Danielle
Thank you, Danielle!
DeleteJulia, what a lovely tribute to your mom! You were so lucky to have each other, and your kids are lucky to have you!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Lucy. We were all lucky to have had her.
DeleteJulia, what a poignant profile of a complicated but amazing woman. Our mothers are remarkably similar, in many ways, including the three marriages.
ReplyDeleteHappy Mother's Day, to all the perfectly imperfect moms.
Karen, I have to confess she wouldn't have liked me highlighting that in this essay. Later in life, she became a bit embarrassed at having had three husbands, and would sort of... elide over the second.
DeleteLovely tribute to a complicated mother and grandmother. And happy mother's day to you!
ReplyDeleteThe same to you, Margaret!
DeleteWhat a beautiful tribute to an inspiring and complex soul. Happy Mother's Day! My mom had a martyr side too, so I am familiar with the passive-aggressive part.
ReplyDeleteGillian, I had a great deal more understanding of it after I went through three years of therapy learning to actually express what I want and don't want :-)
DeleteJulia, what a wonderful tribute to your mom! Brought a tear to my eye, I'm missing my mom today, too. This was one of her favorite times of year--when she could open all the windows, get outside without being wrapped up like a polar bear, see trees leafing out and flowers poking their heads up. I'll be thinking of her daily the next few weeks, as my Louise Odier rose prepares to burst forth in bloom. Roses were her favorite flower.
ReplyDeleteFlora, my mother loved gardening, and always had a plethora of house plants as well. The one thing that frustrated her when she and Dad moved to a 55 and up community was the strict rules severely limiting what sorts of gardens and plants residents could have. Thus, this dish gardens for Mothers Day.
DeleteBeautiful tribute!
ReplyDeleteHappy mother's day to mothers, grandmothers, aunts, and all the women who make children's lives that much more meaningful and full of lessons.
Amen to that, JC!
DeleteJulia, this beautiful tribute made me cry. Yesterday I took a break because it would have been a relative's birthday yesterday. She died three years ago in February, leaving behind a husband and two teenagers. And my condolences on the loss of both of your parents.
ReplyDeleteYou look so much like your mom. Was your father Spencer? I wondered about your last name Fleming-Spencer and I remember that some children have both of their parents' last names.
Loved the post about gluten free recipes by Celia, which I just read this morning. However, I cannot have dairy either due to allergies. Would love to try the cookie recipe with oatmeal raisin and maybe soy milk or oat milk.
Happy Mother's Day,
Diana
Diana, Spencer comes from my birth father, who died when I was an infant. When my mom married for the third time, my dad, John Fleming, adopted me, and we hyphenated the two names on my revised birth certificate.
DeleteThank you for sharing. xoxo
DeleteWhat an honest, insightful, loving, and beautiful post about the complexity of the mother-child relationship, Julia. ♥️ Just brilliant. Thank you for sharing it and Happy Mother’s Day to you and yours.
ReplyDeleteThe same to you, Jenn!
DeleteRhys: such a beautiful piece, Julia. It really touched a nerve with me. When my mom was dying of pancreatic cancer one of the last things she said was telling me to get her hair appointment changed and see if the stylist could come to the hospital!
ReplyDeleteRhys, that makes me smile in recognition.
DeleteWhat a lovely tribute! Mother daughter relationships are always complicated.
ReplyDeleteI keep my fingers crossed about what my won daughters will say of me, Kait!
DeleteThank you for your tribute to the complicated relationship you had with your mother. Our mothers are so human, so influenced and marked--sometimes scarred--by the times in which they came up and the expectations foisted upon them.
ReplyDeleteRhonda, I was listening to Throughline on NPR while folding clothes this morning and it was a show about the history of credit ratings. It made me think of my mom's story of how, as a young widow, despite having significant assets from my father's life insurance and a pension from the US Air Force, she still had to have her father sign when she bought a house. There was a LOT going on for that generation of women.
DeleteAh, yes: love her and she drove us crazy! Ain't that the truth.
ReplyDeleteThe bottom line is that we all do the best we can in any given moment. Two minutes later we may well realize there was a better choice, but that was the best we could do then.
Parenting is the hardest job in the world, Libby, and you learn it entirely on the fly. It doesn't seem fair!
DeleteThis is lovely, Julia - yes,parenting and daughtering are both complicated. I cherish my relationship with kids. My own other was damaged goods who couldn't take care of herself, never mind the rest of us.
ReplyDeleteI was thinking about your mother a bit when I was considering writing this, Hallie. How it's important to acknowledge the oh-so-mixed heritage many of our mothers left us.
DeleteAnd that mixed heritage is so rarely referred to. Shopping for a Mother's Day card is torture for me. My mom would love to ignore our shared history, but as much as I love her, she is not the person who loved me unconditionally reflected in the Hallmark fantasy, then or now.
DeleteJulia, what a loving and thoughtful tribute. And I totally get it. I loved my mom and she drove me crazy, too. Maybe that's always the way with mothers and daughters? I hope my daughter doesn't say that about me....
ReplyDeleteShe will, Debs. As will my daughters. I don't think we can help it - we can make different mistakes than our mothers did, but we'll still make mistakes.
DeleteIt also seems to be true that mothers make daughters crazy in a way no other human being can do, Gigi. I know my mother loved her mom - who also drove HER crazy.
ReplyDeleteMy mom and I butted heads a lot when I was in my school years. I am the oldest daughter and the second child out of five. My younger sisters definitely reaped the benefits of my complaints and so forth as they grew up. I was a bit envious as Mom did things with them that she didn't have time to do with me as she was burdened with three little ones. Once I was married she never stuck her nose in our business. And I really appreciated that. I loved Mom and she and I drove each other nuts in the early years, but hey. That's our job! She was also a heck of a lot of fun and told the greatest stories about her growing up years, moving from place to place in Texas and New Mexico during the Depression. She made pets out of everything and was very outgoing as opposed to my shyness. It was a blessing to move back where I could help my parents out in their final years.
ReplyDeleteThat's so lovely, Pat. My mother was a great support for my marriage as well. When Ross and I first had Victoria, Mom told me, "You do NOT need to travel to us for the holidays. You're a family now, you need to make your own traditions." When I saw how some of my peers would twist themselves in knots to satisfy one or both sets of in-laws during Christmas and Thanksgiving, I realized what a great gift she had given me.
DeleteOh, this is so wonderful--and perfectly said, as usual, Julia! Complicated moms, yes, indeed. I love mine, and miss her all the time. But she had her moments. I mean--MANY moments. For instance, a constant refrain: "I NOT criticizing you. I'm simply observing."
ReplyDelete(Snort!)
DeleteJulia, this is such an honest and still loving tribute to your mother. I didn't realize until becoming a mother myself just how complex being a mother was. In fact, I feel like I was only realizing how much my mother did for me and my siblings when she died. I was 40, turning 41 a couple of weeks after she died. I was the youngest and the one who gave her the gift of excelling in school, something important to her. And, even though I was the easiest of her children, there were still points of contention and drama. Yes, I excelled academically and was active in everything in school, but only a "A" in grades was acceptable. I sometimes felt like I had to make up for my siblings not worrying about grades. Of course, she gave me one of the greatest gifts, the belief that reading was time well spent. I did enjoy making her proud. My father was much less interested in my academic pursuits and even made a statement once about my sister-in-law, who hadn't gone to college, learning the best way, by life experiences (not exact words). And, when you have your own kids, you learn that your mother wasn't a kill-joy about a certain boy, but that she was genuinely concerned about your future and knew he wasn't good for you. My daughter and I have a good relationship, but there were definitely times we drove each other crazy, and she was a good girl, too. Oh boy, that phrase "good girl" reminds me of an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond. If anybody knows what I'm talking about, please comment.
ReplyDeleteOnce, when I was talking to a friend about an impending visit from my mother, she said, "Oh no! There are TWO of you?" Which probably explains a lot.
ReplyDeleteFrom Celia: With the GF bake behind me how can I not comment on today's post and say again - Happy, Happy Mothers Day to everyone who comes to JRW for books, chat, ideas and sometimes really silly questions. But Julia, I am sorry that I only met your mom once and briefly after Ross's death. Yes, she was in the garden planting for you. But I think of her when I read your books; what a wonderful church secretary she is, and I know that is not an easy job. Also when I read about her in the Maine Millennial posts and hear about the new house. Thinking of my mum makes me realize after all this time that she had a difficult relationship with her mother and while I'm not sure I can all mine difficult, it was certainly at a distance. My other mother was /is my godmother her younger sister. I lived with Pauline and her husband when my parents left me in England for my schooling. I was a sad, nasty, mixed up young teen who really didn't know what to do with herself. Pauline was loving, patient and coxed me into becoming the person I am today. She is the one that I grieve for.
ReplyDeleteThank you Julia for the loving, honest essay. I have chosen to stay off of the internet today as this is not a preferred holiday for me. Better it might be called "We all have Mother's Day. That way I can honor, my mom, with all her kindnesses and flaws. I do not have to expect or be connected, and try to avoid being saddened that my California child chooses to ignore me. By now you all know my mantra about expectations. I have a new koan to ponder. Aware that attachment leads to suffering, how can a mother not be attached to a child? Tomorrow I will read your posts, relishing the words from my group btl.
ReplyDeleteI realize I never wrote about my own difficult and caring mother. She hadn't had good models of parenting from her parents, and that fifties era wasn't great for fostering communication and open minds. I thought she was a superb mom - girl scout leader, ballet costume designer and creator, brilliant seamstress, creative with little money making puppet theaters and other gifts for us. Once we hit our teen years, everything went downhill.
ReplyDeleteI can't write a full essay now, but I'm just so grateful she and I grew closer after I became a mother myself. I think I grew in her eyes, and she had also mellowed by then. She was also the BEST grandmother, even from across the continent. I feel blessed my sisters and I were able to be at her side at her side and sing her (ALL the girl scout songs, all the Christmas songs, all the folk songs) into whatever existence is next.
What a great tribute to your Mom, Julia. My Mom was always there, even though she went back to work full time (she was a dietitian) after my father left. I was in college before I realized how little money she had. A graduation trip to Europe enabled us to become true friends. She was everyone’s favourite Mom to hang with, intelligent, smart, great story teller, who never once made my brother or feel as if she didn’t love us to pieces. She also let us be our own people. I have missed her every day since she died in 1993. I was so lucky to be her daughter. May the memories of our Moms always be a blessing- when they are with us, and when they are not. SuzettePC
ReplyDeleteWhat a lovely tribute to your mom.
ReplyDelete