Growing up, I was absolutely enchanted by the Little House on the Prairie series. I devoured every book countless times (except maybe Farmer Boy—let’s be honest, Almanzo didn’t capture my imagination). I was glued to the television show, and my sister and I often played “Little House,” though my role as Mary was less thrilling after she left home. Regardless, those stories shaped my childhood.
Recently, I revisited the entire series and followed it up with Pioneer Girl, the annotated memoir of Laura Ingalls Wilder. The novels were just as magical as I remembered, and it was a joy to reconnect with the characters and their adventures as they traversed the American frontier.
One chilly evening as I was reading The Long Winter, I had to head to the basement to switch my laundry. The cold, damp clothes felt unbearable in the frigid space, and as I sighed deeply, I suddenly thought, “Ma Ingalls would think I’m a total jerk right now.”
Since then, I’ve encountered my Inner Ma whenever I start to complain about first-world problems. Here are a few recent moments where Inner Ma has put me in my place:
- Me: Ugh! We’re out of my favorite salted butter, and I’ll have to use the unsalted on my toast.
Inner Ma: When we moved to Kansas, I didn’t have butter until Charles traded for a cow. And good luck milking that beast! - Me: Another snow day! Seriously?
Inner Ma: We endured relentless blizzards, and the entire town nearly starved when the trains couldn’t get through. - Me: My kid’s glasses are so scratched up; I can’t stand it, 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 finish her education. We didn’t see her for months. - Me: My husband has yet another business trip. Can’t he stay home for once?
Inner Ma: I was uprooted from my family multiple times and had to churn my own butter! - Me: I’m so sweaty in this bra.
Inner Ma: I was laced into corsets that confined me from neck to ankle. - Me: Why does this app update take forever?
Inner Ma: We were grateful for the old magazines sent from back East, if they even arrived. - Me: Those porta-potties at the park are disgusting!
Inner Ma: Our outhouse was pretty revolting too—especially when the wind blew the wrong way. - Me: What is that noise outside? Is it cats fighting?
Inner Ma: What if it’s a bear trying to eat our livestock? - Me: Ugh, I have to skip the gym because of the kids’ dentist appointment.
Inner Ma: We didn’t even have dentists on the prairie—churning butter was my workout!
Though I wish I could claim my Inner Ma has reduced my complaints, I still find myself grumbling about minor inconveniences. At least now, I have the awareness to feel a bit foolish about it. While I adored the Little House stories, I wouldn’t trade my modern conveniences for the hardships of pioneer life. The thought of churning butter alone is daunting! However, reflecting on Ma and her family does help me gain perspective. Motherhood in today’s world can be tough, but we do have indoor plumbing and, thankfully, the most dangerous animals we encounter are usually just squirrels.
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In summary, while I may still whine about trivial issues, my Inner Ma ensures that I maintain a sense of perspective about life’s challenges.
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