I Couldn’t Say It Was My Mom, By: Lori Loesch

Now that my first born is finished with school, and working for his living, it’s quite an adjustment for me and his little, nine (9) year old sister. I keep reminding myself that the projects he has on his mind at the present time, are much bigger and of more importance than any he had in college. Today’s projects mean paycheck or no. He’s not available as much as when he was in school. His little sister liked the days when he had snow days and would build her a sled trail to rival the Olympics ski trails. She loved it when he would push her on her trike, as fast as she could go! When she outgrew the trike, they used the hand truck. In my day it was called a dolly. I walk downstairs, and there is my daughter hanging onto the hand truck, with a big smile on her face, while her brother wheels her around. He is smiling too. Maybe because he’s having fun, or because he thinks he’s scaring her. 

When he mowed the grass, it looked as good as any golf course. There was no crabgrass, dandelion, or clover to be found. The grass was thick and plush. The green and blue hues of Kentucky Blue grass could be seen by anyone sitting down to take a break. Last summer I had to remind him that the grass needed mowing. He then tried to talk me into learning how to drive the zero turn mower. The answer is always “no”. I enjoyed mowing the grass at the house we lived in before we moved here. I used a self propelled hand mower, not something I need a CDL license to drive. 

 His work schedule is different from his school schedule. He comes and goes, and I find myself wondering if he’s downstairs or has he since, left. When he was in college, his attire was jeans and tee shirts. If I was fussing over the fact that a shirt was wrinkled, he would tell me that it was better that way. Today his laundering instructions are much different. He wears, a few days in the week, dress shirts and casual pants that sometimes, when they are not removed from the dryer immediately, need to be pressed. I like to press clothes. I like to see a wrinkled garment be transformed into something smooth and wrinkle free. It can be worn with dignity. There are dress shirts, that for whatever reason, do not look pressed good enough for me. I have pressed them over again until I realize, it’s not the iron’s heat or lack there of that is the trouble, it’s the fabric. Calvin Klein slim fit shirts are the best. Iron once and you’re done!

My son said to me the other night that one of his co-workers, a lady,  asked him if he ironed his shirts himself. He said no, and I was building myself up to hear him tell her that I, his mom, the one that bore him, the one that nurtured him, fed him, had done such a wonderful job… but no, he told her that he had them laundered at the dry cleaners.  He said to me, “Well mom, I couldn’t say that my mom does them for me.”



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  1. One Response to “I Couldn’t Say It Was My Mom, By: Lori Loesch”

  2. It’s good to see my blog in print! Thanks Robin Gorman Newman. I had typed this blog, and it sounded perfect, except when I pressed ‘publish’ it went away, and I couldn’t find it. This is the second draft, and to me it doesn’t sound as good as the first. Technology and I do not see eye to eye! I need a better teacher!

    By Lori Loesch on Feb 28, 2014