The joys and the difficulties of being a mother

Jean's Journal with Jean Farrell

We celebrated Mother’s Day recently. I was amused to receive a gift of this cushion (right) from one of my daughters.

It is she who comes to us, every Christmas, with dogs and children. As I have written here before, I really and truly don’t mind the mess and chaos. This is because we love having them.

However, as they well know, my only stipulation is that I want my own armchair to sit on, when all the work is done. So, now I have my own cushion to help me stake my claim. (The only pity is that dogs don’t read!)

There was much written about mothers before Mother’s Day. One sentence caught my attention. A woman wrote, “I have been a mother since I was seven.”

That describes me and I bet it describe others of you, also, who were reared in big families. I was the second eldest of ten, and much help was needed. This is because new babies continued to arrive, all the time.

One of my earliest memories is the following. My mother had arrived home after her nine-day break in a nursing home. She laid her seventh child into the pram in our living room. I was just seven years old. I gazed in at the tiny new baby, who was asleep.

My mother prepared a bottle for him. Then the other baby (aged twelve months) got sick and became very upset. He was inconsolable and required Mammy’s full attention.

The new baby woke up and started to cry. My mother asked me would I heat the new baby’s bottle and feed him. I recall pouring a little of the milk onto my wrist to test it. I lifted the tiny baby out of the pram, fed him, winded him and then changed his cloth napkin.

(The cloth nappies were almost bigger than the babies!)

My mother was totally occupied with the other baby, during all this.

I clearly remember laying the new baby back into his pram and being SO proud of myself for having accomplished all this, by myself, at seven years of age. It was like having a real live doll.

Others of my siblings helped with the cooking and in the bar. I was always the one who helped with the young children. I loved them.

My youngest brother was nine years old on the day I got married. He cried when my mother told him that I wouldn’t be living at home anymore.

Then I mothered three of my own and now regularly have four grandchildren here. All I can say is that mothering can be very joyful and mothering can be very difficult.

My seven-year old grandniece made an interesting observation recently. I was honoured to be chosen to adjudicate the Saint Patrick’s Day Parade. I sat on the stand, in Saint Peter’s Square, with Athlone town councillors and other invited dignitaries.

My young grandniece passed, marching with some sports club she’s involved with. When she got home she asked her mother why there were no other women on the stand, only me. How observant of her!

There are no women on Athlone Town Council, which is bad. I had a chat about this with Aengus O’Rourke. He agreed with me about the absence of women. He pointed out that when women do get elected, they don’t stay on the council for long, unlike his own mother. Mary O’Rourke was a great role model for all us Athlone women.

I understand well why lots of women don’t go forward for election. Most now work outside the home, as well as in it. They have no time or energy for more.

However, the big drawback of this situation is that men then make the important decisions which affect us all. (I know I’m stating the obvious.)

At least the housework we have to do is a lot easier than it was. I came across a booklet, used in schools long ago. It contained lessons on how to be a housewife.

There are two full pages on how to make a bed. Number one is, ‘Wear a clean apron and wash your hands. Number two says to turn the mattress from side to side, and from top to bottom, on alternate days. There are lots of instructions about sheets’ hems, eiderdowns and counterpanes. Instruction number 23 (the last) states, ‘Put fresh drinking water into the carafe.’

How would you have time to be a town councillor after all that hard work!

I was in my own bedroom last week wondering what to wear. The sun was shining and I decided to wear a new cream top that I had bought lately. (I had to boss myself into wearing it, “What are you minding it for? It doesn’t matter if you’re going nowhere. Put it on you!!”)

I felt lovely wearing it and was happy out! Later, for my lunch, I opened a tin of sardines. By mistake, the oil shot out of the tin and all of it spilled down the front of my brand new top.

I was absolutely FURIOUS with myself.

Then the news came on the radio. I listened to accounts of dreadful dreadful situations in countries all over the world, due to wars.

The expression, ‘A first world-problem,’ came to mind.

How blessed are we to live in a peaceful country, on the edge of Europe. Why would I let a stained top upset me so much? “Get a grip, girl,” I told myself!

I did and said a prayer for those with ‘real’ problems.