Did anyone else have a Mending Basket in their house when they were growing up?
I have a feeling this was something that was fairly unique to my household, so let me explain what it was.
The Mending Basket was a laundry basket that sat on the floor of my mother’s closet. Anytime you had an article of clothing that needed to be mended, it went in the Mending Basket. It might be a missing button or a hole in the knee of your favorite bell-bottom jeans, or a tiny tear on the side of your best blouse. If it required a needle and thread to repair, it went in the Mending Basket.
My mom was the primary caregiver and chauffeur for three active kids in addition to holding down a full-time job. That meant she didn’t always have time to fix your item right away. The theory was that you’d put the injured item in the Mending Basket, and next time she had a few minutes to spare, Mom would get right on that repair, and you’d have your beloved item back.
Theoretically.
In point of fact, that basket was a black hole. Items that went in it were never seen or heard from again.
Not that she didn’t have the skills. Both her mother and her sister were accomplished sewers. My grandmother sewed doll clothes for a living, and she’d occasionally call on all of her kids to pitch in when a deadline was looming. And being a child of the 50’s and 60’s, my mother got sewing lessons both at home and at school. She even earned a girl scout badge for sewing. So, know-how wasn’t the problem.
She had the tools too. I remember an avocado green sewing machine and an embroidered sewing basket that held the pins, scissors, thread, and other sewing paraphernalia. I remember that there was some sort of button container too – a bottle or basket, I think. If you needed a button for a school project or a craft, there were always a few in there.
Although she was busy, there was some spare time. My mom was an avid reader and loved to knit. She once knitted a mother-daughter set of blue and white ponchos when ponchos and mother-daughter sets were all the rage. She and I both loved those ponchos, and we were both heartbroken when I lost mine on the school bus.
So why, then, didn’t she get to the mending?
She had the best of intentions. I know she did. Whenever she told me to put something in the Mending Basket, I could hear the earnest tone in her voice. She was sure she was going to get to it.
There was one simple problem holding her back from the mending: she didn’t like mending.
That’s right, a woman brought up in the 50’s and 60’s, surrounded by sewers, didn’t like sewing. I don’t know for sure, but I think this was the type of thing that might have spawned secret societies, maybe called Non-Menders Anonymous, where the afflicted sat around in a dimly lit room with the shades pulled, confessing about all the things they hadn't mended. OK, maybe it wasn’t quite that dramatic. But still.
I think this was a source of guilt for my mom for a long time. She was a product of her generation, after all, and it was a very confused generation for a while there.
Women of that age were brought up to believe that they were supposed to graduate high school, get married and have kids. They were then supposed to throw themselves smilingly into raising kids and keeping a house. One of their expected duties was mending.
But then Women’s Lib happened, and a whole new set of messages were hammered into their consciousnesses. All of a sudden, they were supposed to feel oppressed by being housewives, and instead were to turn their attention to careers. They were simultaneously encouraged to burn their bras and to dress professionally in heels, dresses and panty hose for their new jobs.
How tough it must have been on them to have their entire society do an about-face on a woman’s role in the course of just a few years. They’d hardly joined the house-wives club when they were told that it was passé and old-fashioned. Now, whether they enjoyed staying home with the kids or not, there was lot of pressure on them to earn a living.
There was an Enjoli perfume commercial in 1980 that included the lyrics: “I can bring home the bacon. Fry it up in a pan”.
That perfectly encapsulates the mood of the hour. Women were supposed to go out and earn a paycheck, but were also supposed to keep doing all of the housework and most of the child rearing!
I feel for my mother and my aunts, going through that moment in time. It couldn’t have been easy.
You may be thinking that I’ve lost sight of my original discussion here, about the Mending Basket, but I assure you, it’s all related.
You see, it was those mixed messages that caused my mother to feel guilty, and maybe even embarrassed about the Mending Basket. When society told her she could (and even, should) have a career, she got one. She’d worked on and off for years to help fund the family, but at some point, it stopped being a job and became a career. That didn’t happen for every woman. Some got jobs, but kept thinking of themselves as housewives primarily, with a job on the side.
Somewhere along the line, though, my mother discovered that she liked working, and really wasn’t crazy about house-working. Don’t get me wrong, she loved her kids and was very involved. But mending and dusting and cooking and laundry --- UGGHHH!
Given that situation, women’s lib was a good thing for her. It allowed her to be both a family woman and a working woman, making for a fulfilling life for her.
Although she embraced the new opportunities that were available to women, she also carried around with her the expectations she’d grown up with. It seems to me that the Mending Basket was an anchor tied to her neck. It represented what she was supposed to be. It reminded her that she wasn’t that.
Now, before you start thinking I’m telling a sad story about my mother, here, let me correct that notion.
This is actually a story about one of the many ways that my mother inspired me. I learned to critically evaluate the place that I was expected to take in society, and instead give serious consideration to the place I wanted. I learned that life is about making choices, and that those choices are not right or wrong, they are just mine. I learned to avoid comparing myself to others, and judging myself by their achievements.
My mother eventually got rid of the Mending Basket and everything in it. The new rule was: if it needs mending, either get rid of it, or ask your sister to mend it for you. She accepted that both were equally valid paths, and that she was no less of a woman for them. She learned that mending wasn’t her thing, and that it never would be. She learned not to judge herself for this.
I watched her struggle with the Mending Basket over the years, and I learned one of the most important lessons a kid can learn: to accept myself for who I am.
I am eternally grateful to my mother and my aunts for fighting the Women’s Lib battle. They worked through all of the confusion and mixed messages, bush-whacking a new trail for me, my sister and my cousins to follow. Because of them, we know that we can have jobs or be stay-at-home moms. We know that we can clean our own houses or hire house keepers. We know that we can install tile our own patios or ask someone else to do it. We know that we can do our own mending, or we can reach out to our sistahs who are good at that, and ask them for help.
On this Mother’s Day, I’d like to say thank-you to some of the women who fought for my right to live my best life, whatever that may be.
Aunt Sandi: Thank you for showing me that you can love your job and also love sewing. Career and craft are not mutually exclusive. You can co-mingle the modern and the traditional in whatever way makes sense to you.
Aunt Dode: Thank you for showing me that women can be both ballsy and bawl-sy (LOL!). We are no less womanly for assertively speaking out than for crying at the tissue commercials. You helped me realize that feminine is not synonymous with weak.
Aunt Pam: Thank you for helping me to understand the value of staying home with the kids. At a time when young women were pressured to pursue a career, you showed me that raising kids was challenging, rewarding, and, at times, hilarious (I’m thinking of the maple syrup story!). Your example helped me realize that I wanted to find a balance between working and raising my kids, and led me to work part-time while they were little.
Mom: Thank you for showing me that accepting myself for who I am, warts and all, is the path to a rich life. I love that you broke the hold the Mending Basket had on you, letting go of who you were supposed to be, and instead being true to yourself. It was worth sacrificing my favorite pair of torn bell-bottom jeans, so that you and I could both figure out how to focus on the things that are truly important to us. You were, and continue to be, an inspiration to me!
Kimba
© Kimberlee Martin, 2022. All rights reserved.
Sweet !