Tomato Canning Day and Moms

Tomato Canning Day at the Prince’s was like no other day. Besides the obvious of “putting up the maters” for the following year, Tomato Canning Day was easily the messiest day of the year.

On Tomato Canning Day my mom was immersed in making tomato juice, tomato sauce, and canning stewed tomatoes. For those of you unfamiliar with the necessary tools of Tomato
Canning Day allow me to explain: Mom used a “Juicer” for the project. A “Juicer” was a stainless steel contraption that had a hopper at the top that held the cut “maters and a handle on the side. There was no electricity needed for the Juicer. All the necessary power was in the arm of the person turning the handle. As the handle was cranked with one hand and the tomatoes were mashed into the machine with the other hand, the freshly squeezed “mater” juice would go one way and the yucky “tomato guts” would go another.

This all sounds nice and neat, but it was anything but nice and neat. Sometimes the juice would miss the bucket, and sometimes the goop would miss whatever the goop was suppose to go in to and sometimes a kid (read: Rob) would coming running in from outside and not see the bucket of juice or pan of goop and purely accidentally send one or both pans (and all of their contents) flying in all directions. In other words, “cleanliness is next to godliness” is a fine saying for most things, except for Tomato Canning Day. By the end of the day, everything was covered in tomatoes. My mom’s spic and span kitchen was splattered with tomato seeds, spilled juice, and tomato goop. It looked as if some overly zealous vegetable terrorist had let off a tomato bomb in our house. Tomato residue was everywhere. Even my usually neat and tidy mama by the end of the day looked more like Bob the Tomato than my dear sweet mama.

To make matters worse— Tomato Canning Day in Michigan always came at the end of August— when the tomatoes were good and ripe and the days were good and hot.

OK— you have the scene in your mind. It’s Tomato Canning Day. It’s hot. It’s messy. And my sweet conservative mother— who never, ever, ever, wore shorts (To be honest— I’m not sure if she has ever worn shorts since) was wearing the most hideous, most awful pair of shorts that had ever hung on a K-Mart clearance rack. She certainly did not intend to leave the house— it was Tomato Canning Day—and she was wearing shorts and covered from head to toe in tomato.
Moms, you know what’s going to happen-- don’t you?

Bam Bam. Bam. Someone was beating on our door like they were Muhammad Ali and the door was George Foreman. It was the neighbor’s kid informing my tomato-gooped mom that my brother had fallen off his bike and did a nose dive into the curb. The curb was fine, but my brother’s noggin was not so fine. (This incidentally explains a lot about my brother Fred to this very day!) Upon hearing that news, my mom took off down the street. She did not take the time to change from those awful, hideous, shorts. She did not take the time to remove the tomato goop from all over her. She heard her boy was in trouble and she took off running. She did not pass go. She did not collect 200 dollars. Her child was in trouble and she was off to be by his side.

That’s how it is when your child is in trouble. You don’t worry about what you are wearing or what you look like— you just go. A “whatever it takes” type of mentality takes over. “My kid is hurt, I must go! I will do whatever it takes to make it better. I’ll do what I have to do to make it right.” I suppose all good moms would have similar thoughts if in a similar situation. In fact, there’s a great story in the Bible when a mom does what it takes to get her daughter to Jesus. Read all about it in Mark 7. It’s a great story of a mom who would not quit before her daughter was helped by Jesus.

My mom ended up riding in the ambulance and sitting in the emergency room wearing her clearance rack shorts and tomato residue. Worrying little about her appearance and a lot for my brother, she waited patiently by his side as he was being examined, x-rayed, and spending the night in Annapolis Hospital. (In the end, Fred was fine—a curb is no match for my brother’s bean. My sister brought my mom a change of clothes, the tomato juice was eventually canned, the kitchen was cleaned up, and life went back to normal.) But I don’t think my mom ever wore those shorts again.I tell you that to remind us all that this week is Mother’s Day. Even if your mom never did a Bob the Tomato impersonation in a hospital emergency room, no doubt there are reasons to be thankful for her. So take time to say “Thanks.” Even if your mom was far less than perfect, take time to forgive. Don’t let Mother’s Day pass without thinking of and/or praying for the lady that brought you into the world and in most cases did so much more (sometimes while wearing hideous K-Mart clearance rack shorts.)