There was talk of doing this blog around Mother’s Day to coincide with one of my features stories for the day that talked to area women about how they saw themselves becoming their mom for better or worse.
In trying to find sources for the story I talked to lots of people, many of them cringed at the idea of becoming their mom and declined to talk to me for the story because they were afraid it would sound mean to their mom.
I wished I could be one of my own sources.
One of the biggest compliments you could pay me would be to tell me that I’m becoming my mom. Seriously, she’s pretty darn amazing. I am still not convinced that she always believes that, but I do my best to let her know.
I’m sure (OK, let’s be real I know) I didn’t always say that enough when I was younger, and maybe not even enough as recent as a couple years ago. But I’ve always realized how amazing she was. Even as a kid when other people rolled their eyes about their moms I knew I had it pretty good.
Don’t get me wrong, she wasn’t perfect and still isn’t. But perfect isn’t good. Who wants perfect? (Unless we are talking about dessert.) There were times when I thought I hated her, I’m sure I yelled and screamed and cried about her in my room. But I’m also pretty sure that she was always right (at least 97 percent of the time.)
I remember looking at her in her flowy broomstick skirts and hippiesque shirts, bright jewelry and wavy hair in elementary school and being proud to say she was my mom. She and my dad were always the “cool” parents. That didn’t mean we were allowed to drink or stay out until 2 a.m., it meant that they were fun to be around, there for us and our friends to talk to and understanding. They did things like allow my sister and me to invite every girl in our classes to birthday parties and then make a pinata from scratch for us or organize other fun games.
As an adult I think about how lucky I was to be raised by parents who loved each other and my sister and me unconditionally. Yes, we’d all get mad at each other, but we never left without saying, and meaning, “I love you.” There were lots of hugs, snuggling in mom or dad’s “house” (the crook of their bent legs on the couch) or piling into their bed for a movie night.
We were lucky we had both of them there for us always. And yes a girl is always going to have a soft spot for daddy, especially for one as special as mine, but mom’s job is the tough one. She did the day to day everything — laundry, help with homework, meals, picking up, boo-boo fixing, you name it she did it. And she did it with twins without losing her mind — patient and tolerant. She did it with love and caring.
Our relationship has obviously changed as I’ve “grown up,” but that support and love really hasn’t changed. I can’t recall a major decision that I haven’t talked out with her. And she is one of the first to know of anything important going on in my life.
So I hope and pray that I become my mom. I’ve decided, that’s what I want to be when I grow up. And I’ll keep working toward it.