For many women, the mother-daughter bond is both endearing and enduring—often the most complicated relationship of their lives. In her book Daughters & Mothers: Mothers & Daughters, Signe Hammer explores how every woman is shaped throughout her life by the ties to her mother. As Mother’s Day approaches, it is a book well worth the read. As noted in a Los Angeles Times book review: “All women are not mothers but all women are daughters, and even the most traditional woman will be stimulated to reconsider her relationship to her mother and ponder how it has shaped her life.”

I grew up in a home as one of seven daughters born in 8 ½ years.  My sisters and I have many shared memories, which isn’t the least bit surprising, but what is absolutely astounding is the variations of those memories and the emotions they elicit.  At one time in our lives, we each insisted that our personal memory was the correct version. With age and perhaps a little wisdom, we now understand and embrace each other’s versions, recognizing that all of them are valid and true.

I clearly remember with great tenderness (and now with absolute amazement) that my mother would draw little stick-figure pictures on each of our lunch bags to celebrate small events.  She would draw a snowman if it snowed; little flowers on the first day of spring; and a jack-o-lantern on Halloween.  I don’t know how she made the time to do that…but she did!

She was remarkable in many ways, but in one area she truly stood out: she was extraordinarily generous with her time, sharing her considerable talents as a volunteer with many organizations. After her eldest daughter’s Junior Girl Scout “Fly Up” ceremony, when no one stepped forward to lead the Cadette troop, my mother volunteered — a position she held for more than a decade. She embraced the role with enthusiasm, determined to instill in the girls a strong sense of confidence and empowerment.

As a wife and mother of 7 girls she was an early adopter of the Second Wave of feminism. She argued to have a credit card in her name and, against my father’s wishes and without his permission, underwent a tubal ligation. I remember my mom’s feminism most clearly, however, at a public meeting regarding the local pool. She argued it was sexist to require only females to wear bathing caps to prevent hair from clogging filters, pointing out that many men and boys had longer hair than she or her daughters. Her persistence created quite a stir, resulting in a new rule requiring everyone with hair past their ears to wear a cap. The rule lasted only two weeks before the policy was scrapped entirely, leaving everyone to swim “cap-free!”

These memories make her sound perfect.  She wasn’t. I remember her being visibly stressed in the mornings as she first fed us breakfast and then lined us up to comb our hair before school.  She was not gentle…she tugged and pulled, efficiently braiding our hair so tight it would stay in place for several days. If I squirmed or cried, she told me to “knock it off.”  On one occasion when I stomped my foot and accidentally kicked her in the shin, she whacked me with the hairbrush…OUCH!

As a kid, I grumbled and complained about all the chores we had to do.  Now, I look back with gratitude.  I learned that I mattered, that I contributed to our family’s overall functioning.   Washing dishes, scrubbing toilets, vacuuming…all those chores gave me a purpose; I felt needed and valued.  (And besides if I hadn’t done them there would have been hell to pay.)

Despite her imperfections, I wanted to be like her; I wanted to “mother like she did”.   To me, she was compassionate and tender (most of the time).  She provided boundaries and allowed me to operate freely within them (almost always).  She was a strong advocate for the disenfranchised and a woman willing to challenge sexism (always).

I have five adult children and I’m sure they share a mix of good and bad memories of my “mothering”, each with their own variations.  I hope they recognize that I did my best, and that like all mothers I am who I am in part because of my relationship with my own mother.  As Signe Hammer wrote, “Mothers of daughters are daughters of mothers and have remained so, in circles joined to circles, since time began.” — Signe Hammer