A Day with Mamaw, pt. 2

The simple daily routine of a Christian woman

In my last post, I shared the secret to what has shaped me the most as a Christian woman: growing up not in the shadow of, but rather in the company of, my Mamaw. I pointed out that while there was a learning curve for me in becoming a wife and mother, that I was unusually fortunate among women my generation or later; I had training in domestic skills that few my age could latch onto when it was their job to run the clothes washer or nurse the baby through his first fever.

All of these bits of knowledge were transferred not through an academic process, but through years spent as helper to a woman who understood and valued her role as a helpmeet. (More on that next week!). Let’s look together at the distinctives of Mamaw’s day and how they illustrate living out the belief that no matter her season of life, a woman working inside her own home contributes mightily to the Kingdom of God.

Wake time: 4:00 a.m. Mamaw was out of bed well before the sun because Papaw’s factory shift started at 6. While he showered, she made both his breakfast and lunch in her ubiquitous “house coat.” Breakfast was always black coffee, and either fried eggs, bacon, and toast or biscuits and gravy. On days when the latter was the morning meal, Papaw’s lunch was a fried piece of pork tenderloin on a biscuit. Otherwise it was usually a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich. This way, Mamaw was most efficient in the early hours. They sat together while he ate, but she usually just drank coffee.

Bible time. After her husband was off to work, Mamaw spent time in the Word. Her husband wasn’t a believer until he was in his 60s, but her commitment to her Savior was strong. There was no time limit on her reading. She read until she was satisfied, then spent time in prayer. This might be 45 minutes, or an hour and a half.

Coffee and the news. Mamaw listened to the local news (mostly for the weather and obituaries) on the radio while she had another cup of coffee and a piece of toast or biscuit. This was the last “sit down” of the morning before she got really moving. She said it gave her things to pray over as she moved, and also helped to order her day. If any of the local deaths listed impacted her circle, she knew she needed to be ready to provide a meal or step in in any other way.

The day’s anchor. Mamaw called her own mother, who I called Mammie, every morning as soon as she put things in motion and settled in to clean up her kitchen from the morning work. This always meant throwing in a load of laundry (in the basement), and pulling whatever meat from the freezer and jars from the pantry shelves while she was down there. When she came back up, she’d grab the phone with it’s long, springy cord and dial her mom and start washing dishes, wiping counters, and getting things spotless.

Getting ready for the day. It wasn’t until all that was accomplished that Mamaw would shed her housecoat, shower, and get dressed. Like many of her day, she had a standing hair appointment weekly, so showering was always done with a cap and didn’t have to be followed up with much more than a little more poufing and spraying. If she was going out, she’d pick one of her famous, home sewn pants- or skirt- suits and hang it on her bedroom door to slip on just as she was ready to leave, and she’d wear a housecoat over her underclothes until then. If she was staying home, she wore a house dress for practicality. Mamaw never stayed in her nightgown unless she was sick. She had a strict “visitors expected” policy. Her rule was that if you weren’t wearing what you’d be happy to share coffee and a slice of pie with the pastor in, then you needed to go change.

Still early. By this point, the sun was up but it was still early. She had a rotating schedule for certain things, like washing sheets, vacuuming the house, and cleaning bathrooms. If it was time for one of those things, she’d get to it before the day got old, believing that it left room for other things during hours when more people were likely to be up, moving, and calling on her. These were the hours I learned the most in terms of what others might call home economics. Mamaw was either singing hymns or narrating what her hands were doing at all times. “Always remember to put a little vinegar in with your towels. And don’t use too much soap powder,” segued into Amazing Grace. I guess it’s no wonder I associate What A Friend We Have in Jesus with the smell of Comet powder.

Being interrupted. Mamaw maintained that anything folks were likely to call on you for would be made clear somewhere after 9 a.m. “Everybody’s liable to be up and moving then, so it’s the polite hour to call.” To be clear, I can’t remember her ever saying, “I’d love to help, but I’m busy.” Even if she had already agreed to drive her own mother to an appointment, she’d offer some way of being assistance: “I’m free after 2:30. Does that work?” Mamaw didn’t view these requests for babysitting or sitting with the sick or delivering a meal as taking away from her duties. She made it clear to me every single day that they were part and parcel of her job as a Christian woman. Maybe that’s why I have always been baffled by the notion that a “stay at home mother” is less busy that one who works outside the home? Mamaw seemed every bit as “employed” as the working women I knew.

The magic apron. House dresses weren’t for going out in, but they still required the protection of an apron. Mamaw preferred a style that’s not common nowadays (but you can still find the pattern on Amazon!) and man, did those things have pockets! This was especially important because Mamaw carried everything from a small screwdriver (she was forever tightening screws and making tiny fixes to things as she moved through her day) to a needle and spool of thread to a dustrag with her at all times. She did things as she went about her day, and her apron made that possible.

The afternoon projects. After lunch was when Mamaw canned, sewed, got bread going, made grocery lists, spent time in her garden, etc. Again, I was right by her side. Mamaw didn’t wait until I was occupied to work on things that had many moving parts. She expected me to stay near, have ready hands, and listen carefully. That narration was still going, giving me details, telling me stories, pointing my attention towards the things that were taking place. There was no greater feeling than being trusted with my own sock to mend while she worked on making a new dress shirt for Papaw, or being allowed to break beans from my own dish pan for pressing into hot jars. I knew when she set me free like that that I had showed my ability to be productive alongside her, and that was a prize greater than any hour of free playtime.

Visiting with the shut-ins. A regular obligation—so regular that I can recall it feeling like a fixture in the week— was dropping in to check on the elderly, infirm, and otherwise housebound. Those unlikely to be able to go and do for themselves were sure to see Mamaw once a week. She came by to visit and pray, to deliver a plate of cookies, to wash the dishes that had accumulated in the sink, maybe to take a basket of laundry home with her to wash, fold, and return. It was through this custom that I heard my Mamaw dish out advice on feeding babies, healing broken bones, praying for wayward children, and so much more. It was also how I learned to not be shy in asking, “Can I pray for you right now?”

Time to rest. Mamaw insisted that days spent at home had a window of time spent quietly. This was when she’d flip through the sales papers her neighbors would drop by from their newspaper subscriptions, or read the newsletters she got from the missionaries she supported or other organizations to whom she donated. (She gave her tithe to her church, but was a large contributor to many other people and groups throughout her lifetime.)

Getting ready for Papaw. The final hour before Papaw came home from work had one goal: making ready for his arrival. His shift had him home mid-afternoon. Mamaw first tidied anything left out in the house. Then she put on a pot of coffee, and began dinner preparations in earnest. Her husband was always greeted with the smells of the meal being prepared upon his arrival, except in the case of her having been out later than expected with errands. When that happened, he got a cup of coffee, and a sandwich before his shower, and a later dinner served as soon after as was possible. Mamaw took this ritual seriously. Cooking was her love language, so it’s only natural that it’s mine as well!

Come sit a spell. If people were stopping by to visit, or if they had planned on calling on anyone themselves, this was when it happened. These were social calls, not what we’d call “ministry.” If someone came to the door, they were offered a glass of iced tea and a place to spend a long hour talking. More often than not, the visitors were couples or families, and the conversation was wide ranging. Nothing seemed to be off the table, and even when touchy subjects were broached, no offense seemed to be taken. A lost art, I think.

Early to bed. Mamaw firmly believed, “Nothing good happens after dark,” and went to bed early by both necessity and choice.

Looking back it all seemed so simple as to barely need mentioning. This was life as I knew it. But there were so many things that I now see having faded, and left a space that modern homemakers are desperate to reclaim. What things strike you about Mamaw’s days? What might be something for you to add to your own homemaking rhythm?

In Christ,

Heather