The Writing Mamas Daily Blog

Each day on the Writing Mamas Daily Blog, a different member will write about mothering.

If you're a mom then you've said these words, you've made these observations and you've lived these situations - 24/7.

And for that, you are a goddess.

Wednesday, February 04, 2009


Daughter Does a Good Deed, So Does Mom

I sort the clothes into piles of colored and white.  I'm going to have to wash this stuff first before I pack it up.  What was this girl thinking?  That's the point  -- she wasn't thinking.  I mean how many sweaters, pairs of pants and T-shirts can one girl have?  She's got more clothes than her sister and I put together.

             I'm trying to make some order in my twenty-four year old daughter's bedroom.  I kick my way through the multi-colored array of shoes scattered around her floor.  Really, how many pairs of heels does one need?  Of course, I have only a couple of pairs myself.  

"You could use some heels, Mom," she once chided me. "Kind of update your look!"

            I just had no idea she had this much junk in her room.  But as I make my way through the piles I begin to understand what a risk my daughter has taken to leave all her material possessions behind to go on a nine-month fellowship to India to work with women and children for an NGO.

I notice the packing list on her bed: "No jeans or tight  clothing. Flat shoes only.  Clothing must be loose and cover the body."  My daughter's entire wardrobe would be classified, "INAPPROPRIATE!"  Forget the heels, clutch bags and tank tops!

            But once again she has left home and another mess for her old mom to clean up.  What was she thinking?  Well, it certainly wasn't about her room.  The last weeks she was home she was running around after work getting shots, passport photos and all sorts of stuff for insects and hot weather.

             I put a load of clothes into the washer. How can I be mad at a few piles of dirty clothes when she's mustered the courage to leave everything familiar behind (purses and all) to travel to a culture so different from her own?  What's important anyway?  Maybe I'm jealous.  Maybe I want her clothes. Her opportunities. Her courage. Then I realize I have enough clothes, enough opportunities, and occasionally enough courage. 

She's doing everything I would dream for her. She's following her passion.

            So, what's my problem? 

I just wish we could have cleaned this mess together. Then again, I'm finding some solace in folding her clothes and boxing up her things. It seems the more I fold, the less irritated I become. Finally, I just sit down exhausted next to a box and cry.

I'm going to miss her so much.

 By Marilee Stark

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