Throughout my life, my brother and sister and I have marveled at the extensive list of peculiar expressions our mother has used. They are traditional for our family in many ways. Always using the same expressions for the same situations over and over. They became a staple of our lives. They didn’t rise to the level of wise aphorisms or even pithy quotes. They were just things to say.
For instance, every time we came home from an excursion to the grocery store or from the mall, as we arrived in the driveway, she would exclaim, “Home again, home again, jiggedy-jig!” For no reason in particular. Just something to say in the moment. But I virtually never pull into my driveway without at least thinking it. Sometimes, when I’m alone in my car, I actually say it out loud. It always sounds funny in my own voice. It should be hers, really.
I loved this little ritual. It felt homey and safe. Familiar. The repetition made it all the more so. Home was safe in my family. As I’ve come to learn more about the world over the decades since, I’ve appreciated the safety of our childhood home even more. That phrase, “Home again, home again, jiggedy-jig” stays with me.
Frequently, my mother expresses herself in self-deprecating ways, little put-downs meant to help remain humble, I suppose, but possibly to call out deficiency before anyone else has the chance to do it. Among them were, “I can’t draw a straight line with a ruler” and “I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.” These talents-lacking were all the more noticeable due to the artistic abilities of my father, brother and myself. My sister, I think, inherited my mother’s crooked ruler and leaky tune bucket. But definitely inherited her humor.
But what was sweet about these statements were that they were always used as a way to exclaim her pride in our creative talents in the form of a comparison to her lack of them. She always took such pride in our abilities even when they didn’t directly come from her.
For me, my pride in being an artist comes from hers for me. I recognize her pride for my own art and it gives me courage to proceed when I’m afraid of failure, or worse, artistic irrelevance. I need not fear about the opinions of the world. My sense of self was already established long before the world’s critical eyes laid hold of me. Those short bits of self-deprecation on her part fostered a confidence over time I would need very much in my adult life. I may have inherited my creative abilities from my father, but my mother taught me to appreciate them.
Some of my mother’s expressions have to do with numbers. One in particular is the number 47. Somehow, anytime she needs a funny number to express in a sentence, it’s always 47. “I opened the trunk of my car and there were 47 bags of groceries in there!” “I must have lugged 47 old pocketbooks to the Salvation Army today.” I don’t know what so special about the number 47. Perhaps it just sounds funny to her. But when 47 won’t do, because an even greater level of numerical value is called for it’s always “skatey-8.” And if called upon to describe someone’s or her own utter confusion, it’s always “eight ways to Sunday.”
Oh, and she never tells us we smell good. She prefers to tell us that we stink pretty. I’ve wondered where that comes from. It sounds like something my grandfather would have said. But I have often said it to Lavender after she douses herself with one of her favorite perfumes. “You sure do stink pretty.” I can’t help myself. I’ve accidentally used it on strangers without thinking. Saying, “You sure do stink pretty” to a total stranger has never gotten a response that I would call grateful.
Many of her expressions are indirect ways of dispensing advice to keep the craziness of life in perspective. She’ll say, “That’s six of one, half a dozen of the other” to claim that it’s all the same. If you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, that old boring expression will rarely do when having “one foot in quicksand and the other on a banana peel” provides a much more entertaining visual. Reminding us that not all which gleams is gold, we are advised, “That and a quarter will get you a cup of coffee.” It took me years to figure out that one.
I learned the old expression “If I had my druthers” from her. I often wondered what a druther was until I realized it was a joke contraction of the words, ‘I’d rather.’ Druther is so much more compelling. If she really finds something interesting she says, “Well, magazine that!” I always thought she was saying, “That’s so interesting you should put it in a magazine.” But I was overthinking it. It was another play on words representing, “Well, imagine that!” To magazine something is much more charming. Even if it doesn’t ultimately describe the act of periodical publishing.
She had her own replacement curse words as well, “Judas Priest!” she’d exclaim. Or “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” Which is funny to me considering she doesn’t have a religious bone in her body. I almost wish we had a genealogical chart outlining the origins of some of these expressions. I wonder how they came to be in her repertoire.
She could caution us against the evils of the world, or just the irony of her own statements by remarking, “Yeah, and if you believe that, I’ve got some swampland in Florida I’ll sell you.” Strangely enough, I think of this phrase every single time my inner alarm goes off that an obvious lie is being told. I can picture some salesman in a plaid leisure suit extolling the virtues of owning your very own piece of the Everglades as a great place to raise children.
As she gets on in age, a new statement has creeped in on a regular basis. It’s not funny on its own, but definitely so in the repetition. She’ll frequently start off by saying, “I don’t know if I’ve told you this before...” The answer is often yes, but we like to hear it anyway.
“What’s that got to do with the price of peanut butter?” she still likes to say. She may in fact, be thinking it about this very sermon. And perhaps she’s right. She typically is. But I assert that it has at least the value of peanut butter, maybe even a little jelly as well. Because these little expressions have become a canon of wisdom, of humor, of caution and of humility. They have enhanced the value of the relationship she has with her children. All of us are as peculiar as she is in our own individual ways. I’m certain she was raising us to be just that.
There’s one other verbal expression she uses almost every single time she talks to one of us. It’s, “I’m so proud of you.” She has never let us forget how loved we are or how proud she is of who we’ve become and the things we have made in this world. Never underestimate how much power a parent has to raise us up or put us down. It’s a sword that cuts both ways. I’m glad to have been programmed with her pride.
Motherhood appears to be less about the harvest than it is about the planting. These seed thoughts, just meant as funny things to say on the occasions which merit their use, are loaded with love and hope for us. A love and hope we are attempting to share with our own children now that my brother and sister and I are all parents ourselves.
It is of course impossible to be with your children twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, protecting them from all potential harm which may befall them. The best thing a good parent can do is to equip them for the life they will eventually be in charge of all by themselves with nothing but the memory of imparted wisdom to guide them. Those are the seeds. Remember to plant them well. Not just for your own children, but for everyone. Share the wisdom you have received from your mother widely. Even if it’s just a silly expression said when pulling into the driveway. Or bragging about your kids. Or cautioning them about the often disingenuous world they will eventually inhabit. Or infusing them with enough love to carry them throughout their lives.
There’s one more expression she has shared with us, more than any other. It is her traditional goodbye for all of her three children, their spouses and her five grandchildren. She never fails to do it. It has no words at all of its own, but it does have an introduction. “Here’s your wave,” she’ll say, and then raises her hand in the symbol of ‘I love you,’ wiggling her pinky finger to make it special.
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