I laughed (on the inside) the first time Janet and I visited her mother after we returned from our honeymoon in the Smoky Mountains. As is true of many newlyweds, Janet was kidding around about one of my human flaws. I have a sleep disorder so I am loud and twist and turn at night. I had warned Janet about it before the wedding, but it was worse than she anticipated.
Maude raised an eyebrow, an all-knowing smile perched on her pouty lips, and she lifted her coffee cup to take a sip.
“Well, you should have slept with him first, and then you would have known.”
Janet, who had lived with her mother for more than twenty years, knew better and said not a word.
I didn’t say anything either. But I did think I wish I had known about her cavalier views on premarital sex because we could have had a whole lot more fun on our dates. Not really. Janet and I always adhered to our own personal rules of behavior.
Janet clued me in that her mother often gave advice before considering all the ramifications of what she was saying.
It was a long time before I fully comprehended the extent of Maude’s penchant for quick judgements.
By the time our son was born, we were living in Texas so we drove to their little mountain town for a two-week visit. Each evening we would drive through every holler to visit Maude’s friends and relatives. By the weekend we had heard a litany of family problems and unfiltered gossip about the neighbors. We decided we needed a couple of days at Gatlinburg for fun time for our young family before starting week two of smiling and nodding as the rest of Maude’s family told us things we didn’t want to know.
After a couple of years like this, I foolishly asked if there were a way to have them all over at Maude’s house one evening so we could say hello to them at one time. She fluttered her big blue eyes.
“Oh, they work during the week, and you insisted on going to the Smokies on the weekend, so this is their only chance to see the baby.”
I wasn’t asking the kinfolk to take a day off from work, and I thought that Virginia mountain people were rugged enough to endure a drive to Maude’s house for an hour or two reception on a week night.
By this time I knew it was futile to discuss such issues so we decided to drop off at Gatlinburg for one day on our way to Maude’s house. But I could tell from the holy judgement in her eyes that she was not pleased.
Over the years I learned what Janet knew all along. It was easier to go ahead and do what Maude wanted in the first place.
Eventually Maude moved to Spring Hill, Florida, and immediately telephoned us to say she was terribly lonely living in her lovely, big new home. She begged us to move near her. We should have known better, but we did exactly what she wished. I still tried to defer to her better judgement. Our daughter Heather was about six or seven and wanted to go down the street to play with some friends, which Maude had selected for her.
“I’m sure your friends’ mother will have them wear a jacket,” she informed my daughter.
“What do you think, Daddy?” my little girl asked.
I lowered my head. My initial instinct was that the current cool in the air would dissipate in less than an hour (remember, this was Florida). I deferred to Maude. “Whatever Grandma thinks best, dear.”
“Oh no,” Maude said magnanimously. “Whatever your father decides will be best.”
Foolishly I believed her. “”It’ll be warm before you know it. Don’t bother with a jacket.”
“Of course, the neighbor’s children will be wearing their jackets, and we don’t want their mother to think we don’t care about Heather’s health.”
I put a jacket on her and send her on her way. I looked out the window to see that, indeed, the other children had jackets off. Within ten minutes all three jackets were on the ground, and none of the children suffered even a slight sniffle.
But Maude was right. Maude was always right.