Mexican French Fries and Japanese Cucumbers

Advice on Being a Mother
Mexican French Fries and Japanese Cucumbers

by Missy Schenck

My mother was a genius!   When other mothers were fighting the child war on vegetables, she was working on strategies.   Her quick wit coupled with her creative brilliance fed her “think outside of the box” tactics.   Serving up hamburgers with Mexican French fries and catsup was a specialty.  Japanese cucumbers with a side of a Thousand Island dressing were scrumptious.  Somehow my siblings and I did not die from eating these vegetables by a different name.  We actually liked them!    

In the 1970s, my father finally agreed to remodel our 1940’s kitchen.  Up until this point he saw no need for a dishwasher; he had a wife, four children, and a housekeeper.    My mother was a master at making order out of chaos and washing dishes was one of her fortes.  The way she saw it - child labor was cheap in our house, so she made us work!  We had to wash the dishes and make our beds, too, but her Tom Sawyer trickery made chores feel effortless and fun. 

My mother ruled by the words of Dr. Benjamin Spock and threats.  I was well into my twenties when I finally realized my eyes would not freeze in place if I crossed them or that frogs would not give me warts.  She had an inexhaustible supply of intimidations and I believed every one of them.   I was pretty naïve – downright gullible.  Telling me that the tooth fairy would not come until I went to sleep was one thing, but I was certain she was spot on with the use of my lost teeth- piano keys.  Every time I sat down to practice the piano, I wondered whose clean white teeth or dirty, rotten ones I was pounding.  Brushing them was never a problem.

One of my lifetime dreams was to be a mother.  I had three children in four years and five years later a fourth.  The three oldest ones were slow-moving triplets with never-ending energy.  Late afternoon bewitching hour bedlam was common and I used every threat my mother ever used on me and then some.  Once when my children were small and underfoot, things got out of control and I was at my wits’ end; so I called my mother.  First, she asked me, “What does Dr. Spock say?”  “To hell with Dr. Spock, Mama, I’m done.  I feel like a doormat; nobody in this house cares about me.”  In twenty minutes, she was at my front door and sent me on a walk.  

It’s amazing what a walk can do for perspective.   While sulking in childrearing pandemonium, I realized the answer to our family mayhem was right in front of my nose -child labor.  Not the kind you have while giving birth or used in factories decades ago, but the ingenious kind my mother practiced on my siblings and me.  It was a necessity for parental survival and I had one of the best role models, my mother, as my teacher.

Giving a child responsibility helps them grow.  It provides boundaries and guidelines for building character while fostering a moral compass.  Complaints are a common challenge and it is normal through all ages and stages of children.   My mother always told me, “Being a mother is not a popularity contest.  Expect resistance, but translating values into a positive, life-changing culture will work wonders for your family.  One day, you will thank me.” 

Mothers are really just normal people doing the work of twenty for free.  They try their best to raise their children to stand a little taller and to do the right thing while their offspring accuse them of being the meanest mother in the world.  They don’t have all the answers to childrearing, but over time their motherhood super powers develop and they gain a sixth sense- intuition.   Trust me!  Mothers do know best. 

I still eat Mexican French fries (green beans) and Japanese cucumbers (sliced yellow squash) because one smart Mother insisted they were good for me.

Thank you, Mama!  

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Missy Izard Schenck resides in Flat Rock, North Carolina with her husband, Sandy Schenck, where their family runs Green River Preserve camp. Missy is a frequent contributor of articles for the Charleston Mercury.