The Milk Crate

It seems that all children learn to play *house*.  They recreate their experiences and take turns being the parents or children.  I am sure that I must have played this game as well although I have no memory of having played it with anyone else.  I had a secret place in the back of our yard.  It was covered on three sides by the back wall of the garage, hedges that guarded it from an alley way and the neighbors high fence that was covered in plants.  I am the only on that played there.  My secret place held my most precious possession, an old milk crate.

Now, I grew up with two parents in my home.  My mother wasn't allowed to interact with me.  I simply belonged to my Dad.  For as long as I can remember, I have yearned for a mother to be in my life.  I saw every day what a mother daughter relationship could be like.  My sister and mother were very close.  I watched as they cuddled together, read together, played and shared secrets.  I saw my sister scolded, spanked and corrected by our mother.  My experience with our mother was so very different and it confused me.  I didn't understand why we were different but I sure learned what rejection feels like.

With that in mind, back to my secret place and the only toy I cared about, the milk crate.  I was the daughter and the milk crate was my mother.  For the first time, I could sit on mommy's lap.  I would sit on that crate and dream.   Whole conversations went through my head as I sat on mommy's *lap*.  As I played more, imagination and longing grew.  Sitting on the grass with my head on *mommy's* lap.  I could almost feel this imaginary mommy caressing my hair, singing softly to me.  Everything that my little girl heart wanted in a mommy, I tried to create for myself.  I told that ole milk crate everything, good and bad.  When I was *bad* I would even lay over the milk crate and pretend I was being spanked.  For me, the happiest times I remember are very simple ones, just me and the milk crate mommy.