“Freedom’s just another word for, ‘nothin’ left to lose’.” Janis Joplin expressed this rather pessimistic characterization of “freedom” in the 1971 hit song, Me and Bobby McGee.” And although we, as Americans, seem to enjoy nothing more than boasting about the many freedoms that we enjoy, I suspect that more than a few of us always smile sardonically whenever we hear Joplin sing that line. Like freedom, motherhood is also one of those lofty “American ideals” (along with baseball, hot dogs, apple pie and Chevrolet) that everyone likes to hold in reverence, but in actuality is “just another word for, ‘You’re driving me insane!’”
Are all mothers crazy? And if we are, what makes us so? Is there any chance of recovery? Do crazy moms always beget crazy kids?
In these times of hyper-political correctness I suppose I should first clarify that I don’t use the word “crazy” in a derogatory way. I’m not poking fun at mothers suffering from the debilitating effects of postpartum depression or other genuine mental illnesses. I’m also not talking about scarily abusive or neglectful mothers or those battling substance abuse problems. I’m talking about the relatively harmless “crazies” that cause mothers to utter nonsense phrases like, “Don’t cross your eyes, Tommy; they might get “stuck” that way!”
Personally, I think “temporary maternal insanity” is a real phenomenon and one that simply “goes with territory” when it comes to raising children. It doesn’t appear to be fatal or to have too many long lasting negative impacts on the children but it is unclear when the condition can ever be completely eliminated once it has manifested itself. It would also make for a fascinating research project (if I could only get approval for a government grant to study it) because of its evolution over time. It also appears to be highly contagious; young, single women generally swear that when, “I become a mother I won’t do all those crazy things my mom did” but in the end they usually do.
I think the causes of “maternal insanity” are fairly standard across ethnic groups, socioeconomic lines and even among mothers from different generations: too little time, too little rest, too much to do and a tendency to worry about things over which we have no control. More interesting, however, are the manifestations of “mom madness” which have some commonality but are also reflective of the time period, culture and economic backgrounds of the mothers and children involved.
I can remember, for example, the quirkiness of my great-grandmother”, an African-American woman born in 1889 as the granddaughter of slaves. “Grandma Lula” would offer grand pronouncements like, “WD-40 can cure arthritis” or “Don’t pluck your eyebrows because it will make you go blind” or (my personal favorite) “Keep those neighborhood kids out of your yard because, ‘Negros’ feet will kill your grass!’” What moved these from the realm of “old wives’ tales” and “superstition” to certifiable “mom craziness” was Grandma’s total disregard for genuine dangers in the world (like sticking metal forks into the electric toaster to free a slice of bread even though the appliance was still plugged in!).
My own mom had her share of motherhood induced eccentricities as well: the giant metal can (think potato chips purchased in bulk) that Mom kept under the kitchen sink filled with sugar (in case Castro’s takeover of Cuba eventually cut off the supply); they annoying habit of hurling the shoes I generally left by the front door at the back wall of my closet in pointed protest of my untidiness and the admonition not to waste food through her signature phrase “You can freeze that!” uttered more times that I could even begin to count. When my mother passed away three years ago and the cemetery called to ask to say that we could put four descriptive words under her name on her grave marker, I was tempted, just for a moment to add, “You-Can-Freeze-That!” but opted, in the end, for the decidedly more tasteful, “Loving Wife, Mother, Grandmother.:
Having entered the ranks of the motherhood with the birth of my own son more than thirty years ago, I wish I could say that I managed to avoid the affliction of “parental psychosis” but predictably I did not. I can recall one morning when I was particularly frazzled and frustrated by my three-year-old son’s reluctance to wake up and get dressed for daycare. Strapped into his car seat with a wide-eyed and bewildered look on his little face, he was forced to listen to a twenty-minute diatribe in which I went on and on about the “evils of laziness” and that if he thought he was going to “lay up in my house and sleep all day for the rest of his life” (remember now, he was only three) “then he had another thing coming!”
So, what is the saving grace for mothers in the midst of all of the “mayhem and foolishness” that seems to be an integral part of the “hardest job in the world”? I think it lies in the fact that amid all of the lunacy there is an underlying theme of love, caring and a desire to protect our children from all that is terrible and horrific in the world, whether it be plucked-eyebrow-induced blindness, the great Cuban sugar embargo or slacking in preschool. Mothers love us and want to keep us safe and if that makes them just a little “squirrely” then that’s still ok.
quietlyradical 