Here is an article I wrote several years ago for a creative non-fiction writing course. I include it here as an example of the blessings that come with the development of friendship with our young adult children. My son Daniel felt secure enough in our relationship that he could comfortably express his opinions, which was delightful in a child who often quietly kept his thoughts to himself. Also, I leave you with a photo of Bryce Canyon, Utah. Happy reading!
Daniel has a laid-back personality like his father. Typical of middle children, he tends to function as the peace maker, the moderator, and can see both sides of any dispute. When he was a little boy, I encouraged him to develop an opinion about things. However, when offered choices, his attitude often defaulted to: “Whatever everyone else wants to do. I don’t care.” At the age of 22, however, he discovered the opinionated part of his mind and shared it with me.
All three of our college-age kids were home for Christmas break for the first time in two years. I was enjoying having my brood all temporarily back in the nest. One afternoon Daniel dug around under the kitchen sink looking for some cleaner to shine up the chrome on his new-to-him Jeep. Later that evening when Daniel, my husband Brian, and I were all together in our small kitchen, Daniel said, “Mom, I want to ask you about something under the sink.” I half expected that he hadn’t found the exactly perfect product to clean his Jeep and was going to ask where might there be more of such supplies. He’s particular like that. Instead, he opened the cupboard and with a disapproving tone in his voice,
“What is the story with this bucket of five or six almost empty Soft Soap bottles?”
“Well, you know, there’s enough soap in the bottom of each of those bottles to do a sink full of hand-wash dishes. I’ve just been busy lately. I forgot and haven’t used them up yet.”
“Mom, the soap in the bottom of these bottles is only worth a few pennies.”
“Well, I know, but I’ll use it up. Then the soap won’t be wasted.”
“I’m throwing them away! Mom, this is old lady behavior.”
Daniel tossed the bottles in the garbage. I winced inwardly at such waste; at least 75 dishes could have been washed, maybe more. Brian stood there with a slight smirk on his face.
This correcting behavior from my middle child baffled me. But to some degree I could see Daniel’s point. At the same time, I come by this frugality naturally. When my maternal grandmother, who was a teen during the Great Depression, passed away, over 100 empty, two-pound, red Folgers coffee cans were found in her house. I don’t know what she had planned for those cans, but I expect she figured she might need them some day. Grandma was a saver. For example, her “gift stash” drawer was impressive. It was full of all kinds of items she had purchased on sale. She had mixers, sheet sets, dish towels, and men’s loud and wide 1970s neckties stored in that drawer.
My mother contributed to my frugal nature as well. She taught me to make chocolate chip cookies with half the chocolate chips to stretch the budget, scraping every last bit of batter out of the bowl so as not to waste any. Early in our marriage, Brian and I struggled financially. Half the reason I nursed our babies is because it was cheaper than formula. I cooked from scratch, sewed our kids’ clothes, and grew a vegetable garden. I know how to get by on little resources. Curiously, I felt usurped when corrected by my easy-going kid. I didn’t like it. I’m the mother; I’m supposed to do the correcting.
A few months later, Daniel was the only child coming home for spring break. In preparation, I scanned my life for any possible “old lady behaviors.” After thoughtful perusal, I realized that my off-white bathrobe had three drips of chocolate syrup on the lapel. Sometimes I drip when eating frozen yogurt. “Oh dear,” I thought, “I better wash that bathrobe before Daniel gets home.”
Next, I needed to check the refrigerator for what I call “science experiments.” These are plastic containers full of leftovers that are unrecognizable due to their lovely specimens of mold growing in them. During past visits home, when trying to find something to eat, Daniel had been affronted by these little packages.
“Mom! What is this?!”
Examining the contents, “Um, I can’t tell. Mmm…I don’t remember. Sometimes I lose track of the Tupperwares that hide in the back of the fridge.”
He wasn’t impressed with my explanation.
Since Brian and I had become empty-nesters, we tended to use the dining room table for dual purposes: eating meals and as a catch-all for un-read mail, receipts and bills to be filed, and catalogs we might order from. After cleaning out the fridge of suspicious leftovers, I walked through the dining room and remembered that particular correction. Daniel asked,
“What is all this stuff on the table? Don’t you know this is what old people do?”
After clearing the table, I remembered that Daniel may need to borrow my car while he was home. At the time, I drove a small SUV that I lovingly called “The Recycle-Mobile.” We did not have any kind of neighborhood recycling service, so I stored plastic and glass bottles in the back of my vehicle to eventually take to a recycling location. I was a busy woman, and I usually let the cargo section get pretty full before stopping at the recycling center. Once when Daniel was riding with me, he asked,
“Mom, do you mind the sound of clinking bottles in the back of your car?”
Surprised, “Oh, no, I don’t even notice.”
I made the mental note that I better run the recycling errand before Daniel comes home for spring break.
What I missed were all the crumbs. Daniel did need to borrow my car after all while his Jeep was in the shop for a day or two. After he used it, Daniel asked,
“Mom, what do you eat in your car that is so crumby?”
"Granola bars,” I replied meekly. I had been commuting almost daily, to work and classes, and therefore eating in the car quite a bit. That familiar correcting tone crept into his voice,
“Mom, it’s a mess in your car. There are even crumbs on the steering column and the little ledge below the speedometer. Mom …”
“Is that old lady behavior, too?”
“Yes,” with a stern look on his face.
Later that evening, Daniel invited his friend Alex over to visit. She and Daniel were hungry, so they pulled all the necessary ingredients out of the fridge to make quesadillas. I walked into our small, galley-style kitchen and said,
“I hope you have enough room to work in here.” They assured me they could manage. As an afterthought, I added,
“Don’t mind those three bottles of lotion on the counter. I’m going to cut them open to get the last of the lotion out of the bottoms.”
While Daniel rolled his eyes, Alex said, “Oh, I do that too.” I thought to myself, “Thank you, Alex.”