Don’t Count Your Chickens Before They’re Hatched
(And Other Sayings From My Mother).
by Molly Jo Realy (@mollyjorealy)
Everyone has a favorite phrase. The one they fall back on when a platitude is needed, when they need to encourage (or just speak their mind), or fill the air with more than silence.
Although my mother was the consummate introvert, many sayings have emanated from her throughout the years. Here are my favorites the ones I remember most.
“Keep your head down and your mouth shut.”
Honestly, I’m not sure why this was good advice for me. I mean, I’m an extreme extrovert and a natural-born sharer. Oh. Wait. Maybe that’s why. Mom was always counseling me on not opening my mouth unless I was sure of what I was saying. When I was young, I thought I was certain. Well, I was certain of the words, but notsomuch what it meant to say them.
Let me give you a for-instance:
I HATE YOU!
Yikes. Them’s powerful words. In my childish understanding, it meant “I’m angry at you. I don’t think this is fair. I can’t express myself and I’m frustrated. I don’t like what is happening and in my mind, you are the one making it happen. Therefore, I am unhappy and you are the cause; ergo, I hate you.” But as a child, I didn’t have the vocabulary or the understanding.
As I grew older and started work, Mom would encourage me with the same phrase. It didn’t take long for me to catch on that the business world is not like the world I knew under her roof. I’d found the vocabulary to voice my dissent at certain situations, to which the bosses voiced their dissent at my continued employment. I got it now, Mom. My opinion didn’t matter. My paycheck did. Huh. Go figure.
“Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched.”
Yup. She loved this phrase so much she bought me a little Lowell Davis statue of a chicken hatching. Thanks for the visual aid, Mom. *snarksnark* Okay, it’s possible probable was a definite character trait that I would take things on face value including dreams and hopes. I wanted to go to Disneyland, therefore it would happen. I was going to grow up and marry Andrew McCarthy. (Is now a good time to mention that “Ringwald” was my high school nickname?) So, I guess, I mean, maybe, mother knew best. I still want to smash that statue against the wall every now and then, but don’t tell her that.
“All good stuff!”
Whenever Mom and I talked at length about life, we’d always end on a positive note. Politics got your panties in a bunch? At least you’re not running for Congress. Yup. All good stuff. Groceries cost more than they did last month? That’s okay. You know how to budget. See? All good stuff. Didn’t matter what the negative factor was. As long as we could make lemonade out of it, it was definitely you guessed it: All good stuff.
“I mean it.”
Mom never said “I mean it” when she was, well, mean about it (or else I just blocked that from my memory?). But she would use it for emphasis on the good stuff. In May I called to tell her I had a week off work and while it was meant for me to teach at the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writer’s Conference, I was ready and willing to buy a plane ticket. “I can be there with you in less than ten hours,” I said. She was adamant I go to the conference. “I mean it,” she said. “That’s so important. I’m not just saying that. I really want you to go.” So I went. And then I flew out to see her. [Side story: Due to a horrific storm, the seven-and-a-half hour flight actually turned into 25.5 hours of travel time, five airports, one train ticket, and a bus. Yup. I was my own version of Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. But that’s a story for another time.]
“I love you.”
Words of affirmation were never casual with Mom. If she said it, she meant it. With these and many other phrases my brothers and I were raised on, I fundamentally knew they were spoken with the intent to grow us into better people. “I love you” was not a trite or casual statement. It was reserved for bedtime kisses, hugging away hurts, and celebrations of life.
Mom, you’ve been my best friend even when I didn’t know it. You’ve guided me, looked out for me, and been my Number One supporter when it comes to creativity. And you’re also my hero.
I love you, Mom. I mean it.
(link:) Sally Realy April 5, 1936 – June 3, 2024
How has your mom supported you? As a mom, how do you encourage your children?
Come alive, stay wild, and always, savor the journey,
~M.
A Southern hippiechick at heart, Molly Jo Realy is author of the romantic location mystery novel, NOLA, and founder of New Inklings Press. Also an editor and coach, she encourages people to embrace their unique talents to share their stories as only they can. Addicted to God, cats, tea, planners, and pens, in no particular order. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram for more fun!
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