Raise Your Hand if You Recognize This?

When I was a tween or teen, my mother brought one of these home.  I asked her what is was, and she explained that it was a splatter screen for keeping grease in the cooking pan and off the stove.  I noticed that one edge of the screen was ripped out already, and asked her what happened*.  She got this funny look on her face and explained that my kid sister has asked her what it was, too.  Mom told her it was for spanking little girls and playfully bopped her on the butt, which made it rip. In my memory, Mom kept that same ripped splatter screen for eons.    

There is five years between me and Kid Sister, but my older sister is only so by 18 months.  When my mother speaks of raising my older sister while pregnant with me, and then raising two infants simultaneously, her eyes shutter a little and she is at a loss for language to articulate the complete exhaustion she experienced.   When Kid Sister came along, Older Sister and I were a little more self-sufficient.  Mom got to really enjoy having a baby in a way she missed out on with the first two.  I could tell even then at the tender age of 5, 6, and 7 that she cherished having a baby.  (The fact that Kid Sister is pretty darn adorable didn't hurt either.)

My mother is a world-renowned saver, recycler, and repurpose-er, so it is no surprise she held on to a perfectly functional, although slightly blemished tool.  She is also neat as a pin, and it is possible the funny look on her face was a little regret that her jest ended in breaking a brand new purchase.  Tonight when this memory came flooding back as I spied my own splatter screen tucked in the cabinet, I recognized that look as one of a mix of all these things, but also pride and love.  Pride because she had been so witty on her feet (Dad is usually the jester in the family).  And love because it was a laugh she shared with Kid Sister. 

*Or words to that effect.  I don't recall exactly how old I was when this happened.  If I was closer to the teen end of that age spectrum, it is regrettably more likely that I asked her, with all the haughty disdain and world-weariness of a Superior speaking to an Inferior, if she was aware that she had bought a defective product.