Saturday morning and the sun is shining bright in my bedroom. I’m up because I can hear the bass to some Madonna song loud and clear. Moms cleaning. She barges in, dressed in her white tshirt, shorts, hair a mess. She’s tan, little, feisty, and in a cleaning mood. Which either means she’s really happy or mad. She tells me nicely to get up so I’ll take it that she’s happy.

I wonder why she just won’t leave me alone as I stare at the tribal and cheetah print wall paper on my walls. I roll over for a bit and ignore her. She comes back in and turns off my fan and tells me to get up and help. I do. Every morning my mom expected my bed to be made. Face washed, teeth brushed. My clothes were never wrinkled and my hair was always “fixed”. I remember my mom always sewing, ironing, cooking, planting. She stayed busy.

I had chores. It seemed like so much and I still hate doing dishes. One time I tried to help wash clothes. I poured bleach on my dads jeans. I was only allowed to put clothes in the dryer after that. My parents made me work. My parents were strict, and my parents loved me so much. I never had a lot growing up but I always had what I needed and a little more. I realize that now.

Watching my mother taught me how to be a wife and a woman. There’s nothing my mom can’t do. Her ironing board and sewing machine lived in the kitchen. She had the most beautiful roses I’ve seen. She’d help my grandpa in his garden. When she shot a gun she didn’t miss. If she had a flat, she changed it. I think the woman could replace a carburetor if need be. She’s also a lady. If you have the pleasure of knowing my mom, you will know she is one of the kindest women. She’s honest, hardworking, friendly, respectful.

I grew up with her as she had me when she was 18. I appreciate her more now than I ever have. She is my number one advocate. I am so much like my mom. Our worlds are different now. The things my mom taught me, the way I grew up, it’s not what people look for anymore. Today a really close friend of mine told me something that hit me like a ton of bricks. He said “you don’t look for love, at least you don’t act like it”. He meant no harm by it and honestly I’ve never thought about it. He’s right, I don’t. Why should I? If I can prevent my heart from being that broken, I will.

I don’t see that anyone is worthy of that type of investment. Even myself at times. I feel as if I’m now longer viewed as “wife material”. But I was someone’s wife for a while. I was actually a good wife at one time. Although I did spend all his money. The amount of lessons I have learned from that experience, I don’t really have time to put them in the ways I wish I could. I am so happy to have had the opportunity and to actually learn from it. The hope I have deep inside to get it “right”.

I am the girl that holds the flash light, drives a tractor, has helped primed more wells than I have cared for, chased down cows, stayed up all night with babies, makes gravy from scratch, holds the door, gives up her seat, greets strangers, over uses thank you, and has a smile even through the hurt. And does it ever hurt. Especially in a world of rejection, with a constant need for validation. Where lies are covered up and gas lighting really exists. It’s more important to appear you have it all together because we live under a constant microscope then it actually is to have it together.

I do not have it together. Right now I’m worried about my daughter. She’s acting like one of the kids from Dr Phil. (It’s not that bad). It’s also my fault. I’ve made excuses and I’ve been lenient. Patterns often repeat themselves. I pray that I can instill the things in her that my mom did to me. I pray that one day, we rid ourselves of the toxic culture we live in. That when you find something you love, you hold on to it. That we stop wanting more and be satisfied with what we have and remember to love each other like Jesus does.