When I was 5 she smelled like a mix of sweet tea and sunflower seeds in the summer. Her hair was always shiny and it flowed in the wind. She knew the rules to all my favorite games, she never lost at a game of cards, she knew all the words and how to make all the voices in my favorite stories and she always made the best chocolate chip cookies.
When I was 10 she knew the words to all the "cool" songs on the radio. She let me walk by myself to the school yard to play with my friends, she made great breakfasts on the weekends and she wore bangled earrings like Stevie Nicks with her birkenstocks and flowy skirts. She never missed a practice or a recital, she always had the cure in her purse and she was the envy of most of my friends.
When I was 15 she taught me to drive and kept my secret when I backed into a tree while learning in someone else's orchard. She let me hang out with my friends unsupervised at the fair grounds, handed out money for me to get my own lunch items, helped find the perfect dress for a Freshman lucky enough to go to the senior prom, and she never let me forget that I was still her little girl.
When I was 20 she taught me to be an adult by introducing me to traveling with a bad sense of direction, trying new foods and falling in love. She let me go when I wanted to run away and she let me come home when my heart was broken. She still made sure Santa stuffed my stocking, she knew where to get the chocolate mice before there was a Harry Potter and she never missed a chance to hang out on the weekends.
When I was 25 she reminded me how to be young again. She incouraged me to date, laugh, dance and love with reckless abandon and reminded me to be safe, stubborn, independent and responsible before she got off the phone. She told me not to get "locked up or knocked up", she shared margaritas on Saturday afternoons at lunch and she reminded me that different really is better than boring.
I'm not yet 30. And when I look back at all the things she did, all the things she was, all the things she still is. I wonder? Can I even sum it all up? Probably not. But then I remember that they have a word for this person beyond description, this overwhelmingly different and wonderfully always the same sort of love. They call it MOM, and I am honored to have one.
Happy Mother's Day to the woman who has changed her title to Nana, who's name is Mommy in the cell phone and Lorrie at work but around here will always just be Mom.
1 comment:
That was fun and sweet to read. Happy Mother's Day, Allie!
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