My relationship with my mother greatly improved when I went away to college. There was a lot less tension and I was able to escape from the confines of our messy house. There were still a few occasions where Mom and I did not agree, and on one such occasion, I started to realize how our roles had reversed.
The winter breaks in college are insanely long and my first two years I lived in the dorm. Because of this and the fact that I was financially destitute, I HAD to spend the entire holiday at my parents' house. My mother and I started to develop a friendship, which was a drastic change to what life was like when I was in high school. We spent a lot of time running errands and shopping during our free time. Mom had stopped working at this point so she was always home during the day. I worried about her being cooped up all the time and so I would make a point to get her out of the house for at least an hour everyday while I was home, even if all we did was take a drive to the post office.
I was enjoying this newfound friendship and learning about my mom as more of a person instead of just "Mom". Unfortunately, we hit a huge roadblock on one fateful day as we were out running errands and shopping. This particular roadblock is one that manifested itself as a large, Victorian style, dollhouse.
On one of our afternoon outings, we ventured into a Ben Franklin craft store to look for some colored pencils. I became sidetracked by a shelf of picture frames and soon realized my mother had disappeared. I wandered past the shelves of paint, beads, yarn, and other standard craft supplies, hoping to find her, but to no avail. Instead of the usual places, my mother was over in the toy section staring up longingly at a row of two and three story Victorian doll houses. The image of a small child staring into a storefront window at Christmas time flashed into my mind, and, after glancing at the $180 price tag, I knew it was going to be a problem.
"Aren't they beautiful?"
"Yes... they're nice..."
"I really like the one with the blue roof. It looks like one I had as a kid. I think Mama and Daddy bought it for me for my birthday."
"That's great, Mom. They're really kind of pricey aren't they?"
"Yeah, your daddy would kill me."
"Yes, he would."
"Well, I don't really have to tell him..."
"Mom, bottom line is, you don't have the money."
"I'll write a check. Hopefully they won't cash it until Friday."
The conversation continued for a few more minutes. I tried to dissuade my mother from buying the dollhouse using the logic of finances and the fact that if she bought it, we wouldn't have money for groceries. At one point, she stuck out her bottom lip in a pout and crossed her arms. She then sharply added that she was not about to have her child tell her what she could and could not buy. I walked out to the car and she followed. When we got home, she got in her own car and drove back to Ben Franklin and came home with the Victorian dollhouse with the blue roof.
Later in the month she proceeded to purchase three more dollhouses from the internet. All of them are sitting in my old bedroom with their roofs peeking out from beneath piles of clothing, papers, and dust...
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I can't tell you how many times my father would buy things that he couldn't do without. And we never had any money; the electricity was turned off when we were kids, we never seemed to have enough to eat, etc. But that didn't keep him from buying more stuff which, like your mom's dollhouses, became part of the overall BIG pile that was our house.
ReplyDeleteI think there's a few dollhouses in my Mom's basement too. And, she'd buy another one tomorrow too if she saw one.
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