Growing up, I was a massive fan of the Little House series. I devoured every book countless times (except for Farmer Boy—no offense to Almanzo). I was glued to the television adaptation, and my sister and I often played Little House, though I had to take on the role of Mary since I was older. It wasn’t quite as exciting being separated from Laura and Nellie. Nevertheless, Little House was a significant part of my childhood.
This past winter, I revisited the entire series and followed it up with Pioneer Girl, an annotated memoir by Laura Ingalls Wilder. The stories were just as enchanting as I recalled, and I enjoyed reliving the characters’ journeys across the western frontier.
One chilly night just before Christmas, while I was wrapped up in The Long Winter, I had to switch my laundry in the basement. The cold air hit me hard, and I found myself grumbling about the burden of carrying damp clothes in the frigid space. Suddenly, it hit me: “Ma Ingalls would think I’m being ridiculous right now.”
Since that realization, I’ve been shadowed by my Inner Ma, who steps in when my complaints start to sound a bit too privileged. Here are some recent moments where Inner Ma has put me in my place:
- Me: Ugh, we’re out of salted butter, so I’ll have to use unsalted on my English muffin.
Inner Ma: Back in Wisconsin, we had no butter until Charles traded for a cow, and even then, milking it was a challenge. We had to churn our butter by hand! - Me: Another snow day? Seriously?
Inner Ma: Remember that winter of endless blizzards when we nearly starved because the trains couldn’t deliver supplies? - Me: My son’s glasses are so scratched that we need to get him new ones, but I really don’t want to drive to the better store.
Inner Ma: My daughter lost her sight, and we had to send her away to Iowa for her education. We went nearly a year without seeing her. - Me: My husband has yet another business trip. I wish he didn’t travel so often.
Inner Ma: My husband moved me far from home multiple times, and I had to manage everything on my own. Plus, I still churned butter! - Me: Why is this app upgrade taking forever?
Inner Ma: We were lucky to get old magazines sent from the East every now and then. - Me: The deer are eating my rosebushes!
Inner Ma: We endured three years of grasshopper infestations that ruined all our crops. The cows had no grass to eat, which meant I had no butter to churn. - Me: Ugh, the porta-potties at the park are disgusting.
Inner Ma: The outhouse behind our house was not exactly a luxury either, especially when it was downwind. - Me: What is that noise outside? Are those cats?
Inner Ma: How about a bear trying to eat our livestock instead? - Me: I have to skip the gym because the kids have a dentist appointment.
Inner Ma: We didn’t even have dentists on the prairie. I got my exercise churning butter!
I wish I could say that my Inner Ma has made me less of a complainer. Unfortunately, I still find myself grumbling about app updates and uncomfortable bras. However, I now have the awareness to feel a little foolish about it. As much as I adored Little House, I certainly wouldn’t want to live that pioneer life. The thought of churning butter is enough to make me appreciate my modern conveniences. I’m learning that taking a moment to channel Ma and the rest of the Little House family can provide valuable perspective when life feels overwhelming. Modern motherhood has its challenges, but at least we have indoor plumbing and only have to worry about squirrels rather than bears.
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In summary, my Inner Ma is a constant reminder to appreciate the conveniences of today while keeping my complaints in check. Modern parenting has its trials, yet it’s crucial to remember how far we’ve come.