‘Scratch’ cake, Ollie the Alligator, lots of laughs: Memories of motherhood bring me joy

It amazes me how one human heart has the capacity to love, and love, and love, and still love some more.

I thought about the topic of love and the ability of the heart to enlarge itself to love even more, as I texted one of my granddaughters on her birthday. I am the mother of two sons, who gave me five granddaughters and a grandson. And my granddaughters have given me three great-grandsons and two great-granddaughters. I am not ashamed to tell anyone who will listen — I am truly a blessed woman.

But this isn’t a column just about love. It’s about memories and laughter and patience and mother’s wit.

As a young mother, I delighted in every little thing my sons did. I remember their first words and, 63 years later, I can still see my Ricky (now deceased) at 7 months old, bouncing around on the floor to the beat of the Maxwell House Coffee jingle. I can still hear Shawn, who just turned 60, singing, “How Great Thou Art” in his baby baritone. He was only a year old when the great George Beverly Shea recorded the song that had all of America singing of God’s greatness, even if they weren’t all believers

And as squeamish as I am, l enjoyed sharing the wonderment of their world discovering a fuzzy black caterpillar and not being afraid to watch it wiggle around in their scrubby little hands.

I can still hear the excitement in 3-year-old Ricky’s voice when he ran in the house to show me the doodlebugs he had stuffed in his pockets. At such times it seemed that my heart would not contain the love I had for my babies. Theirs was a world that I had long outgrown and was now immersed in more mundane things — like putting food on the table, keeping a roof over their heads and clothes on their backs. Looking back to those days, I am forever grateful to have experienced such precious moments. The memory of them are gifts that just keep on giving.

I am thankful that I took the time to answer every question, no matter how silly it seemed to me. It was all so new to them. And I was amazed at just how much their young minds soaked up from just listening to our grownup conversations. So, I learned early on to be careful of what I said around them.

Recipe for ‘scratch’ cake

For example, one Sunday after church, we had a longtime friend for dinner. Rick had gone home with his godparents. For dessert I served homemade pound cake.

“This cake is very good,” our guest said. “Is it scratch cake?” I told her it was. Later that evening after Rick came home, I served him a slice of the cake. “Momma, this is good cake. What kind is it?’ he asked. Before I could answer, Mr. Shawn (who was 4 years old at the time), answered with all the know-it-all he had in him: “Its scratch cake, Ricky!”

“Is it Momma… how do you make scratch cake?” Before I could answer, Shawn said, “First you take some scratch, and then you put it in a bowl…”

I never heard the rest of Shawn’s recipe. Mom and I were laughing so hard. But I did hear Ricky ask, “What is scratch?” I am sorry to this day I didn’t hear the rest of Shawn’s recipe because I never got to know what scratch is.

I am so thankful that along with the love, God also gave us parents wisdom and a sense of humor.

I learned early on that a sense of humor would be one of the most valuable assets in our household. We lived with Mom until Rick was 14 and Shawn was 11. During that time, I learned just how handy a sense of humor could be.

When Rick was 13 and going through the adolescent period, he got the idea that he had this great singing voice. But just when he was really getting into his act, his singing voice decided to change on him. When he wanted to sing baritone, the sound that came from his mouth was more like the sound of a donkey singing soprano.

It was at this time, too, that he delighted in standing behind doors and in corners of the house, waiting for Mom to pass by so he could jump out and yell, “BOO!” He would laugh when Mom screamed in fright. I chastised him. But it was hard to keep a straight face. Poor Mom.

I decided then, that if I wanted to save Mom‘s life, and keep my sanity, we — the boys and I — needed our own place. You see, Rick was going through every stage in the baby book, and Shawn was right behind him; Mom was going through menopause, and I was going bananas!

A mother’s wit

As my boys grew, it became more and more clear that as much as I needed to love them, I really needed to understand them; to listen. And use my mother’s wit.

The latter came in handy the day that Rick, then 14, pulled me aside and whispered to me that his chest was sore to the touch. Shawn, 11, overheard the conversation and said, “Don‘t worry, Ricky; you’re just turning into a girl.” With that he ran off laughing. I knew the soreness was due to his body changing.I wasn’t sure how to explain what was happening to him.

I needn’t have worried. The love of God, mixed with the mother’s wit He gave me, kicked in and I made an appointment with their pediatrician. On the appointment day, I took Shawn along. In the doctor’s office I explained to him why we were there. He looked at a squirming and giggling Shawn and gave me a warm, knowing look. “Let’s take a look at the young man,” he said as he led Rick into the examining room. After a few minutes, they came back into the waiting room where Shawn and I sat.

“There’s nothing the matter with Rick,” the doctor said. “He is all man!” A big grin spread across Rick’s face. “Did you hear that, Shawn? I’m all man!” Shawn just shrugged and waited for the next time he could torment his brother. It was worth the trip.

As my sons grew, so did I. I grew in patience and wisdom.

I learned how to hide my fear of flying and took them on their first airplane trip to Orlando to see my dad (their grandfather), and to hide my fear of creeping things and critters. I would need these valuable gifts as I watched in wonder as my sons discovered the world around them and grew into young men. As a teenager, Rick was into girls, sports and clothes. Shawn was not into girls yet. He was more of a nerd and was into music and animals. After all, this was the same Shawn who once had raised a frog from a tadpole and then, tamed the frog.

True story. This was the same Shawn, who decided for his 12th birthday he wanted money instead of a gift. That way he could buy what he really wanted: an alligator.

Alligator tale

So we brought Ollie the Alligator home and placed him in a large fish tank in Shawn’s room.

All his friends stopped by to see Ollie. Shawn fed him bacon and changed the shallow water in the tank every day. I was fine with Shawn’s new pet as long as he kept him in his room. But Ollie started to grow, from 12 inches to 14 inches, and I had concerns. I made sure Shawn kept his room door closed.

One day, a curious Rick decided to feed Ollie. The piece of bacon was too big and poor Ollie choked on it and died. Shawn was so sad. Rick and I walked around the house with long faces to show Shawn how sad we were, too. But as soon as he was out of sight, we rejoiced! We placed Ollie in a shoe box and gave him a fitting burial in our backyard.

I am 83 now. The years seem to have flown by. But these memories make me happy. Now, four of my granddaughters, are mothers. Afra, Shawn’s younger daughter, who just celebrated her birthday on Oct. 7, is the newest mother in the bunch. She is the mother of Loretta Jane, 1.

As I write this column, I have so many warm wishes for Priscilla, Nykeva, Afra and Jamie, who are now living out the joys — and frustrations too — of motherhood.

Most of all, my wish for them is to enjoy the journey. And don’t forget your seat belts.

Bea L. Hines can be reached at bea.hines@gmail.com.