Mother's Day Ode to My Amazing Mom

I have been trying to compose a Mother's Day post in my head, and it's been tough. My childhood was by no means unhappy, but it wasn't exactly picturesque either. Just admitting it wasn't perfect is enough to make me uncomfortable. When I think of the reasons, admitting them scares me to death, even though they're not mine to fear. Not any more. I grew up with an alcoholic father, who is now estranged. People who grew up in a situation like mine know the complete chaos and turmoil it causes in a family. They also know the shame and the amazing lengths a family dealing with addiction will go to in order to cover it up and appear normal.

As I get older and try to remember exactly how it was, I get a lot of conflicted feelings. There are memories I would like to leave in the past, but also feelings of great warmth, happiness, and pride. Those are purely due to my mom's magical way of keeping a fractured family together. Sometimes I wonder how and why she worked so hard to keep a sinking ship afloat, and sometimes it takes all my strength not to run to her house and hug her and thank her for keeping my childhood as idyllic as possible.

You see, addiction brings nothing but uncertainty. That's what it was like living with my dad. You could never be certain of anything. He was loving and funny one day and the next he was angry and belligerent. But we could always rely on mom. She was always a pillar of strength. A security blanket when nothing else seemed safe. One memory that always sticks in my head is sitting at home after school, watching TV when I was younger, working on homework when I was older, and hearing the garage door open at precisely 5:30pm, and that little jump in my heart knowing my mom was home. I remember dropping whatever I was doing and excitedly listening as her high heels clipped across the kitchen floor. She was home, and all was right in the world. I remember following her to her room and lying on her bed as she changed out of her stylish work clothes, slowly removing each piece of jewelry and putting it in its proper place, and then threw on her comfortable after-work clothes. There were other happy memories scattered throughout, but that solid, predictable, reliable memory, no matter how mundane it may seem or how often it was repeated is the one that means the most to me and to me symbolizes my childhood and my mom's role in it.

Now that I have three daughters of my own, I still don't think I will ever understand how she did what she did. It's hard enough raising three kids with a husband who isn't an alcoholic and is in fact quite capable and an amazing dad. However, I still see some of my mom in what I do with my girls. One thing my mom always did well was make the ordinary seem enjoyable. We didn't go on big vacations (the first time I flew on an airplane was when I was 17 and that was with my best friend's family), and we didn't have a lot of extra money for her to shower us with impressive gifts -- although she did make sure we always had a nice mixture of what we wanted and what we needed, and she very likely spent more money on us than was really prudent. But I remember just loving being around my mom (and I still do). I remember walks to get custard, trips to the mall, and just baking cookies always seemed more fun for us than for other people. I can't even really pinpoint why. I remember feeling so fortunate that she was my mom. I try to make sure my girls experience those same daily joys as well.

Now I still feel fortunate that she was my mom because I don't know another woman who would have had the strength to do it. I feel fortunate to have her in my life because I still get a little tinge of excitement when she comes to my house. Even more than that though, I feel so fortunate that my girls get to have her for a grandma. I may feel a small tinge of excitement when she comes over, but they are in full-out Grandma-mania mode with the screams of excitement and "IT'S GRANDMA DEB!!! She's HERE!!!!" You would think Justin Bieber just walked into a room of 12 year-olds. I see her shower them with love and small gifts and show them that they deserve everything the world gives to them and she makes each moment with them special. I feel like she maybe gets to love them -- three little girls -- in a way that has fewer barriers than the first time around with her own three little girls.  No sinking ship. No uncertainty. No having to be Super Mom. The fact that I am able to give that gift to her means so much to me but I know it will never pay her back for all that she has given me. She has been the single most important influence in making me the woman I am today and that is a gift I can never repay.

Audrey's Acceptance Letter

As soon as I got home today, Audrey came tearing into the kitchen yelling, "I have something to show you!" Her eyes scanned the table and she frantically asked Jayson, "Where is it?! Where is it!?" He handed her a sheet of paper and she ran up to me. "I'm going to KINDERGARTEN!" She excitedly shoved a letter in my face that confirmed she is registered for four year-old kindergarten next year. "I'm going to turn four and I'm going to go to Hoover School!" I frowned and looked at Jayson and he laughed, because he knows how sad I am about the girls getting so big.  Lydia gave me a pat on the back to assure me it would be OK. Awwww... Audge-pants is going to school!