Expectant Mother – Things I learned from mine…

I’ve talked a little bit now about my mother and I felt I should share a few stories from my childhood, like the one below. It is a direct excerpt from a book I’m writing about my experiences with my mother, entitled Mother, My.

I hope in some way this story will help others too. Perhaps to know you are doing a great job as a mom, or to know you didn’t have the craziest mom on the block, or maybe just to inspire you to call your mom and say “thanks for being there” if she was even the slightest bit wonderful.

Ali’s Preamble…

Sometimes it’s easy to forget that parents are just people, just regular people, with the addition of a huge responsibility – the one of raising children. Yes, it can be one of the most beautiful and rewarding things you can do, if you see it that way, but it is also additional responsibility on your everyday life. Being a parent is generally done on top of the other things in life such as work, rest, and a little play too (though many parents go without this for a time). Plus there are the additional financial responsibilities, the basics – food, clothing, shelter – and all of the extras if they are within your reach – activities, sports, dance, music, camps, courses, vacations, parties, etc… It can be a never ending list of a lot of extra “stuff”.

Is it any wonder that those people who don’t notice the many beautiful and rewarding parts of child-raising, those who have not really connected with the joy of having children, and those who only see the responsibilities would, at some point, crack and break?

This is one of those stories.

This story is true, to the best of my recollection, and in fact, I may have made it sweeter with time than it was at the first living.

Thankfully, there are some positives the came of it – including that this story makes me laugh…now… 🙂

Plus, we kids always stuck together and we found a way to deal with the absurdity of this and the many other “Mother, My” experiences – they always brought us closer, and we laughed, a lot. In fact, Mother, My was the source of much of our pre-teen and new-teen aged amusement.

Here goes…

The Toilet Paper:

During our early teen years, I’m going to say that I was maybe 13, making my sister’s 12 and 11, Mother, My took us aside one day with a roll of toilet paper in her hand and started a conversation with us about toilet paper and its usage.

Do you have moments in your life that you wish you could have captured with a photograph? My memory of the dumbfounded looks on our faces would have made an incredible and priceless photo!

First off – we’d all been using toilet paper for many, many years at this point (!) and talking about it seemed strange and, therefore, funny especially to pre-teen and new-teen aged girls!

I mean, really! Could you find a more embarrassing topic? Oh yes, periods. That would have been worse, but I guess it was related.

She mentioned that we had been using too much toilet paper lately, and she was done buying so much of it.

Then she asked us how much we use when we go, and waited for a reply…Seriously!

She actually thought we would answer such a personal and embarrassing question (again, especially for pre & new teens!)?! That, in and of itself, is crazy.

We didn’t answer; we were all too busy trying not to look at each other for fear of laughing uncontrollably. Our lips held firmly together to keep the deep nasal sniggers that were threatening to burst the seal and erupt beyond our control.

Laughter was very, very, close to the surface.

She told us that when we pee only two squares were needed to wipe.

Two squares!!!

No holding back the laughter now… we laughed like we were watching the most unbelievably stupid TV show that was making us nervous and uncomfortable just to bear witness. We each risked a glance at each other, eyes wide in disbelief.

And then, it got worse! She went on to say that for a poo only four squares were necessary.

FOUR. SQUARES.

We laughed till we cried over that one, unable to hold back, uncomfortable with the topic, disbelieving the whole conversation was even happening, and then FOUR SQUARES!

Clearly she wasn’t having the kind of poo that we were all having, she needed some fibre or something, because four squares was NOT going to cut it!

Laughing in Mother, My’s face was never a good idea – pride was perhaps her most overwhelming personality trait. To laugh in her face was as bad as…was worse than… you know, I can’t think of anything worse that you could do to her. Killing her may have been more kind than laughing in her face. Although, sadly in our childhood we didn’t understand this at all, and I only learned this with hindsight through the eyes of an adult.

At the time, laughter was the only way to combat this very strange and uncomfortable conversation she was having with us.

When she mentioned the four squares for a poo it was so ludicrous my sister scoffed, “AS IF!” (my sister’s favourite expression back then), which made us all laugh harder.

To which Mother, My replied, “I only use four squares! And if I can only use four squares then you can too.”

Even now my face is screwed up in an “ew” expression.

Mother, My was not overweight by any stretch of the imagination, however, she was a “real sized” woman with an ample ass at the time (compared to our bony little behinds) and none of us could imagine how on earth she was wiping her ass with only four squares (or two for a pee)!

It was, we felt, highly unlikely.

Mother, My was not known – especially to me – for her honesty. Truth to her was a sliding scale based on whatever suited her needs at the time, and changed sometimes on one subject several times within a day. So I didn’t for one second believe her 2-4 squares jive.

It’s important to note that the toilet paper that she was buying was not the cushy stuff that you get today, we’re not talking Charmin or Royale strength or quilted quality, oh no, we’re talking the No-Name brand 1-ply type stuff.

Four. Squares. !!!

Trying not to picture Mother, My using four squares and the horror that picture brought to mind helped us all simmer down, catch our breath, and manage to go back to the straight faced, tight lipped, holding it in kind of internal laughter. Now we just wanted to get through this lecture and away from this moment.

Then, my youngest sister – who I presume could not erase the picture in her mind – asked oh so innocently, “don’t your fingers go through?”

Which, of course, set us all of into peals of laughter once more.

To be heard over our hubbub she replied loudly and angrily, “Yes, sometimes, but that’s why you wash your hands.”

And again I say, EW! As my face contorts – even now – into a look of disgust, I mean… What???! Seriously? Grosse.

We were stunned into silence for but a few short moments, until one of us – not even sure who – broke the silence with a new burst of laughter… and we were all off again.

We laughed, and we hurt her pride during this conversation until she stamped her foot for attention and yelled, “That is it! I have HAD IT!” (one of her favourite sayings back then).

And a new rule was born.

From that day forward we were only allowed one roll of toilet paper each per month.

ONE. ROLL. PER. MONTH.

Yes, that is worth repeating.

Two of us had our periods now and she was limiting us to one roll per month. (See, I knew periods fit into this uncomfortable and unbelievable conversation!)

We were to keep our rolls in our rooms and use what we needed to use, ration it out for the month….And when it was gone – it was gone.

Seriously.

When it was gone, it was gone.

She would not be giving us any more toilet paper.

And we believed her.

We stopped laughing, and she cruelly acknowledged that fact “not laughing now are you?” as her eyes glowed red, horns grew from the top of her head, and steam spewed from her ears…

To seal the “new deal” she went and took the remainder of the roll from our bathroom (we three girls had the upstairs to ourselves with three bedrooms and one bathroom), and then handed us each a full roll to keep in our rooms.

She told us that at the beginning of every month we would get another roll and this would continue until we learned to use a “respectable amount” of toilet paper.

We took our rolls and retreated to our rooms. As soon as she was gone we got together in my sister’s room and bitched about how unfair it was – and it was – and then we laughed with abandon, because what else was there to do? Jeepers.

I want to note that my brother was not included in this toilet paper ration, however, his bathroom, which was downstairs and the bathroom for the main floor of the house, was now stripped of its roll too. While he wasn’t rationed, he was told to keep his in his room and to not share with us.

From the very next day we started stealing toilet paper.

The school was our first hit, they sometimes left extra rolls in the wrappers in the girls’ bathrooms and we took them right away. The school got wise after the first week and stopped leaving toilet rolls in the bathrooms. They also sent notices home about missing bathroom supplies.

Mother, My knew immediately it was us, and we had to give her the rolls we’d taken. Well, most of them…we managed to keep one hidden that we shared.

We ran out of the four rolls we had between us within the first two weeks. So, for the first month we used our allowance to purchase some additional. But not only was it embarrassing to do so, it felt really unfair to have to buy it with our allowance when other kids got it for free.

This one and only time we purchased toilet paper the three of us spent about 30 minutes outside the supermarket doing the whole “you go in,” “no, you,” “no, you go in,” “let’s go together,” “someone has to stay with the bikes,” “I’ll stay,” “no, I will,” “no, I will,” and on it went until finally my sister and I went in together leaving our younger sister with the bikes outside. Even once inside – buying toilet paper was mortifying for us, we were so scared to be seen by friends from school. Not only that, we were scared to be seen by Mother, My returning with it – knowing she would rub it in.

So we got wiser.

We all developed a habit of wherever we went, if it had a bathroom we would start wrapping toilet paper around our hands and fill our pockets/bags/backpacks with wads and wads of it. We didn’t take the full rolls anymore, especially from places we could get caught (like school or friends’ houses) and in case our rooms were searched (which happened when Mother, My was feeling rampageous), but we always, always filled our pockets.

Public toilets were open season for us, and we took existing rolls off their holders (if they were half full or less – just because of the bulk to carry them) or if it was the one sheet at a time kind, we took stacks of it home with us.

Each one of us finding more than one hiding place in our rooms for the toilet paper, so that if it was found and confiscated, we’d have back up stashes.

Tissues became our friends, and whenever there was a tissue box open to the public, we took some.

Mother, My created little thieves out of us all.

We also started going to the bathroom whenever there was one available outside of the home. Even if we didn’t “need to go” we went, and if nothing else we took a wad of paper for later.

Mother, My was so pleased with our “learning to use less” as she now didn’t have to buy so much toilet paper (I wonder if our friends parents were wondering why they were buying so much more!), that this rule lasted a very long time, perhaps the rest of my years at home (until I was 16) as I don’t remember an end to it.

The fear of being without toilet paper though lasted until well into my 30’s, as did the need to go to the bathroom whenever one was available.

Even when I was living out of home and able to buy toilet paper, for those first few years living with roommates I continued to do the ‘hand-wrap-pocket-stuff’ with toilet paper wherever I went. There were always wads of it in my bag, in my pockets, hidden in places around my bedroom (more than one place) and I felt much more secure knowing it was there.

It became habit for me to always take a little more wherever I went.

When I moved in with my first boyfriend I continued the pocket stuff until he pointed out we could buy more toilet paper. At first we lived with his mom and her boyfriend and so not having the house to myself I still felt safer with some “stashes” around the house, just in case someone else used the last of it without replenishing. There was always a roll or two in one of our bedroom drawers – hidden at the back, under clothing, in case his mom or her boyfriend searched for it. Not that they would of course, they didn’t even know I was hiding it!

When we moved to our own place, just the two of us, I had almost a whole cupboard full of toilet paper. We never had less than three shelves full on hand at all times. Around 50 rolls.

AT ALL TIMES.

I’m sure some of you are saying, “pfft, 50 rolls, whatever…” but understand that we didn’t have Costco in Australia back then, you couldn’t go and buy a pack of 36 for $12 (or whatever it is now), this was in the time where 12 rolls was the max package you could buy and it was about $8 each time. (Costco would have been my dream back then!)

My boyfriend eventually put a stop to it and said we could buy a new pack when we’d opened the last pack – that was as close as I would get to being without toilet paper. And even then, I bought a new pack before the second-last pack was finished.

Now, as an adult, living alone – I feel proud to say that I never fill my pockets anymore, and I can now get down to the second-last roll before buying a new pack, but if I actually put that last roll on the holder without a new pack in place, I do still become anxious, agitated, and can think of nothing else until I have purchased a pack.

Sometimes the internal dialogue goes like:
“That is the last roll, oh no.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll get more today, I promise.”
“But what if something happens and we don’t get to the store, we should get a wad just in case.”
“It will be fine, just breathe, we have a car and if the first store is out of paper, we will drive to the next store, and the next until we get some. We’re okay.”
“But what if we run out and I have to go and can’t wait to get to the store?”
“We’ll get to the store, let it go, we’ll be fine.”
“But what if something happens to me today and I can’t drive tonight to the store, and then we run out?”
“It’s okay, we have two boxes of tissues in the house, we will be fine if we can’t make it today.”
“But what if we can’t even make it tomorrow?”
“We’ll phone a friend…it will be FINE, now relax and breathe!”

And on and on the dialogue goes, all day it replays in my mind, the fear that something will happen and I won’t get to the store to get more.

Needless to say, this doesn’t happen often!

Second to last roll goes on the holder and I’m on it, immediately! But I am also really proud of how relaxed I am about getting down to the last roll. It’s quite something.

The positives:

Of course, this is an extreme example of the unstable parent in the life of a child and how those “lessons” last well beyond the time that they occur. Sometimes they last a lifetime.

These are the lessons though that I want to remember – always – when being a mom to my own children. I want to stay conscious that the choices I make for them will stay with them, that my actions with them have consequences.

In my desire to love them into a feeling of safety and joy and a sense of self-confidence – I want to ensure that I put this past of mine aside so as not to ever recreate it.

Not that I would ever recreate that particular example, but there are subtler ways of making a child feel anxious about something and I hope to be conscious enough of my internal stuff and my child’s feelings that I don’t allow anything to go so far off the rails.

I’ve been reading lately the book: The Connected Child (great book) and it often talks about children who went hungry while growing up can be triggered by the slightest appearance of withholding of food, and how some adults who went without as a child still carry around a granola bar in their suit pocket years after they can pay for and feed themselves.

It reminded me of this toilet paper withholding, and how long, how very long that stayed with me – long after I was able to purchase and control my own supply.

If my kids, when they arrive, have been through anything like this – any withholding of the basic necessities, I hope I will remember to be kind to them,– knowing that this experience will likely stay with them for many years after this need is being met – and no matter how long it takes, I hope to love them through it, and help them to relax and let the fear go.

My fear of running out was real and long-lasting, but it has also become one of the stories in my past that now makes me laugh and that I playfully tease myself about whenever I reach the last roll.

I am grateful for that time in my life for three reasons:

1. it brought myself and my sisters closer together,
2. we learned to problem solve so that we never ran out, and
3. most importantly of all – I now have an experience from my past that will even more deeply allow me to connect with children who may have been through a similar withholding in their lives. I will not only be able to empathise with the fear it evokes, but also to understand and identify the behaviours that fear generates.

It is like everything in my life has brought me to this point, prepared me to be an adoptive parent at this time of my life, and in that sense – everything I’ve lived has been an incredible blessing.

With smiles and love,
Ali Jayne