Spanglish

Memories of you, of what I once thought of you; make me nearly resentful.  In my adolescent mind you were a caring and compassionate person, the one that would always be there for me, and the one that would always make good out of a bad situation. But I now see things differently. You could say that I had ‘eye opening’ moment. One of those moments that someone might have while taking a walk with the intent to clear their mind and begin to become aware of little things that normally go left unnoticed; the chorus of leaves rustling along the sidewalk followed by a gust of wind capable clearing weightless clouds only to expose the empowering light and enriching warmth of the sun.  Although I had one of those ‘eye opening’, I wasn’t searching for it.  My moment felt more like a ‘slap in the face’.

The television lit the dark living room alternating the light from dim to bright.  My kids and I all huddled on the couch crunching on our popcorn and covered with blankets.  Everyone’s eyes fixed on the television watching the movie, “Spanglish” with one of our favorite actors, Adam Sandler.  I watched intently as the movie unfolded.  I couldn’t help but think, ‘how could this mother be so cruel’.  She surprised her daughter with a bunch of brand new clothes and the overwhelming excitement in her daughters face quickly diminished as she tried on each article of clothing, one after another, only to find that they all were all too small. Tears swelled in the daughters eyes as her mother said to her, ‘oh honey, don’t worry they’ll all fit fine, once you lose some weight’ then left the girl standing there with piles of brand new clothes that would never be worn on the bed next to her as the over flowing tears streamed down her face.  I couldn’t help myself thinking, I had just watch a memory from my childhood.  I was that little girl and that mother was my mother (and still is).

When I think back the most vivid memory I have that relates to the movie is when I was about 12 years old.  My parents just got home from a cruise trip that they took to the Bahamas’. My brothers, sister and I were overjoyed to have them home and eagerly waiting to hear about their trip.  My parents luggage, spread out on the couches in the living room as they began to unload each one.  The first suitcase that my mom unpacked contained various souvenirs from their trip.  My siblings and I shrieked with excitement as she handed each one of us shells and shirts.  I knew just by looking at it that it wouldn’t fit; my mom was convinced otherwise. Reluctantly I tried it on.  Just as I thought it was nearly skin tight.  My mom tugged on the shirt, “don’t worry honey, you’ll lose the weight and it will fit just fine”.  That line of hers echoed throughout the years.  At that time I interpreted this famous quote of hers as reassurance and encouragement.  But now I know better.  I see things very differently through adult eyes.

My mother has randomly made comments to me about how fat people are and if she notices that someone has gained weight.  I hear these comments that she so casually makes and although I know that she is not directing them to me (at that time) I just want to unravel on her.  I think how could she talk so negatively about these people and be so hurtful.  I’m sure that she says the exact same things about me to other people.  Once I overheard her talking on the phone, going on and on about how she gave her granddaughter some clothes and the clothes were too small.  Many times she still makes comments that I now see as degrading.  She still buys me clothes that are eventually returned to the store because they are too small and I’m not willing to keep them around till I lose the weight.  

As much as I try to just blow off her comments and protect my daughter my mom still strikes my nerves. I just have come to the conclusion that I will never meet up to her expectations and unless I lose the weight she will never truly be proud of who I am and my accomplishments.  I will forever be a fat disappointment in her eyes.

Gardening Therapy

            I believe in gardening.  There are many types of therapy in today’s society.  For me gardening is very therapeutic.  It is true; there is the dirt, bugs and weeds, but the fulfillment of being able to grow such beauty out of a tiny seed makes it all worth it.  Gardening gives me a sense of accomplishment and enjoyment.

            My family and I moved into a house that had previously been vacant for two years.  In the back yard there was a flower garden that bordered the entire length of the fence line.  Looking at this flower garden that had been dominantly taken over by weeds as tall as my hips, I thought, ‘I bet this use to be beautiful.  It’s going to take a lot of work, but I’ll make it beautiful again’.  I was determined to do just that.  Little did I know how therapeutic it would be.

            The next morning I loaded up the kids in the van and off to the garden center at Menards we went.  We each picked out a pair of gardening gloves and gardening tools.  We admired the beautiful plants and the vibrant colors of the flowers.  My youngest begged to be held up so she could take in the fragrance of each flower!  Proudly I picked her up for every single flower out of her reach that we had past.  Eager to get started, we made our way to the register with garden gloves and tools in our hands.  When we got home we all corralled around the mound of weeds that we were about to conquer.  The energy and excitement to get started quickly diminished and was overwhelmed by the hard work that it took to pull all of the weeds; one after another, after another, after another.  Before long I realized it was wishful thinking that the kids would pull weeds with me.  They made their way to the swing set and played.  I didn’t mind; they were having fun and being good.

            Oddly enough I found it to be relaxing.  Pulling weeds, getting dirty, and letting my mind wonder on anything that it happens to land on and think.  Thinking of nothing in particular and overwhelmed by not the day’s hurries but the calmness of the garden.  I worked in the garden, pulling those weeds, from one end to the other end.  Many days I was so absorbed with working in the garden that I would lose track of time and before long I’d find myself in the dark. 

            Gardening gave me a feeling of pride, accomplishment, enjoyment, and confidence.  I am not typically proud of my accomplishments, but when it came to my garden I felt such great pride and had such enjoyment just by admiring my hard work that I had put into the garden.  Pulling those weeds out of my garden was like pulling the stress out of my life!  I can honestly say that gardening made me a happier person!