Mother's Day

On this day, Sunday, Mother’s Day, it only seems appropriate that this post be dedicated solely to my Mom and most loyal reader. I promise not to talk about running, make a pathetic effort to weave an outdated song through my post, or give a shout out to HS. (Well, we’ll shoot for 2 of 3.) I want to talk about her because a) unemployment doesn’t pay well and this is about all I have to offer as a gift b) I can’t be there, though I desperately wish I was and c) I’ve gotten to know my mom everyday of my life and I think it’s about time I share. You want me to share, trust me. Let’s start with some stories.

My problem set as a kid looked a lot different than it does now, naturally. Now, I’m worry for my basic survival: food, shelter, a job to pay for said food and shelter. Then, I remember the things that kept me up at night back then: the fear of splinters (my mom once removed one from my butt), swimming lessons (I never could backfloat), and the chance that Eric might wise up and realize that he didn’t actually have to do what I said. Another of our constant dilemmas was the fact that the fries at McDonald’s were way better than Burger King’s while BK had the corner on the chicken nugget market. You just couldn’t win. But then, WE DID. My brilliant mudder figured out the key to unlocking the perfect meal: we went to both. I will never forget sitting at the counter in our house on Nichols Dr. eating what is still the best meal of my life, with the sudden realization that my mom just might be my hero.

Fast forward a few years. A lot actually (unfortunately). I peed my mom. It’s true, I did. I had to have been 13 or 14. In my defense, I gave a fair warning. I was being tickled without mercy and well, a girl can only hold it so long. My mom was the first one to realize what was happening and screamed. The room cleared and I was left to figure it out. But she came back. I knew she would. She didn’t even change her shirt with the wet spot first. When I think about having kids of my own, I wonder if I’ll be able to stomach them. Kids are gross, even at 13. Somehow though, she’s managed to be there for every foul kid-nastiness we’ve managed to produce.

I’ll also never forget the time we went school shopping mid-7th grade. It might be safe to say that I was trouble, a snot maybe. Why do kids start making their parents’ lives miserable in middle school? Maybe it was just me. I don’t know. Anyway, we were shopping and of course disagreed on everything. I’m sure she was right, she usually is. We were driving home and suddenly she was crying. There’s nothing like making your mom cry to make you feel like the world’s biggest ball of scum. Timidly, I asked her what’s wrong and I’ll never forget her answer: “I makes me so sad that you don’t let me buy you the best things. If it were up to me I would dress you in gold and silver. But you’re choosing to look cheap and it just makes me sad.” It felt like I got punched. She cut right to the heart of it. She wasn’t trying to dress me in clothes to ensure that I’d never climb the social ladder, she knew me, my heart on my best days, and wanted the world to see nothing less when they looked at me. And, I didn’t realize it at the time, but isn’t this exactly the reason One who wants to dress us in kingdomly-splendor weeps?

I could go on. The stories are endless, as I’m sure yours are too. Somewhere in that long string of stories, at least in mine, there is this gradual, beautiful shift that takes place. At some point you learn that your mom is so much more than just your mom. She is a woman, a person with a past and present and a future in the same way that I have a past, a present and a future. And at some point during this shift, she becomes your friend, your best friend. At least, that’s what happened for us. No one on this planet knows me better, and amazingly, no one on this planet loves me more. It’s truly a mystery to me. We’ve both seen each other at our worst- my crying fits, her cold silence. We’ve fought. We’ve misunderstood each other. But that’s what friendship is, fighting through the fights to come out better than you were before.

I couldn’t imagine my life without her. I would not be who I am. I would not know who I want to be. I want to be strong and authentic and endlessly hospitable like she is. I want to always keep searching, keep trying to be better, to know more just like she does. I want to be her. I realize that in a world of broken families, this might put me in the minority but it’s absolutely true: I want to be her. If you can say the same, make sure to tell her today.

Other great things about my Mudder…
1. She used to call us in sick from school to take us snowboarding. The best part is that she rode with us. That’s right, my mom shreds.

2. She is absolutely the best cook I know. If you see her, ask her what she used to do for our proms.

3. All my quirky comes from my mom. All of it. As does my rescue complex. Currently, we have three rescued dogs (two of which are Great Danes) and one 8-year-old China baby wreaking havoc on our house. It’s awesome.

4. She let me be the first one in the 5th grade to shave my legs. Also awesome.

5. When I surprise attack her with a sobbing phone call she never fails. She brings her A-game every time. Which, thankfully, has been particularly outstanding over these past months in DC.

Happy Mother’s Day.
All love.
LC