Not everyone is blessed with an awesome mom, or a living one, and with you I grieve, but my mom kicks awesome to the curb and does a little dance around it, and I wanted to take a moment to reflect on the woman, nay, the exploding star, in whose orbit I have abundant light.
My mom is morning pancakes and bedtime prayers, permission to wade in the autumn leaves, hot cocoa after the snow. Sewer of Halloween mermaids and gluer of Valentine’s Day “mailboxes,” kisser of bloody knees and respecter of an open book (“How many more pages in that chapter? Ok, finish the chapter, then please set the table.”) My mom is a square dance diva who has never lacked for a partner and a card shark who has never missed an opportunity to let me lose a hand.
My mom is the one who turned to my dad the night they announced their divorce, turned to the father who was shushing me, and bit off the words “She’s allowed to cry. It’s. Sad.”
My mother is the one who kept four kids in extracurricular programs and musical instruments on one full-time job and late child-support payments.
It was my mother who mysteriously, and single-handedly, arranged Christmas shopping trips so that all four of us could buy each other presents while somehow keeping all the gifts a secret.
It’s my mother who will fearlessly and relentlessly, and effectively, play Bad Cop if you really need something done (like two days before my wedding, when she and B went to pick up the rental van we had reserved, and which the rental company had utterly failed to hold for us. Ask B about this sometime. It’s a good story. 🙂 )
It was my mom who walked me down the aisle.
It was my mother who taught me how to pray.
My mom is games of backgammon, memory, and mastermind packed for every ballet and gymnastics lesson, Black Fridays spent cozy at home baking cookies, Saturday trips to Lake Erie. My mom is the whirlwind party-thrower who can cater a party of 700 with staff, and whip up Thanksgiving dinner, solo, in about 2 hours. My mom is the Tetris Master, able to pack whole lives into a single four-door compact sedan.
My mother knows things about strength that I might never learn. To my anchor, my root, my protector and cheerleader, I love you so much. Happy Mother’s Day!