Don't Forget to Thank your Mother

If I had to sum up the way I thought about my mother growing up, it would be that she always knew just what to do. She taught me that I could never really mess up artwork, but that it was always fixable - just another part of the picture. She came up with a secret code that I could call her with if a sleepover wasn't going as planned, and always came up with the perfect excuse for me to leave. I once heard her dedicate the song, "Little Bitty" to me on the radio, to make me feel better about being the smallest of my friends. Once in a while she'd sneak me small gifts, or a trip to get McDonald's breakfast, and it was not only significant because money was tight, but because it was just between her and I. She'd wink at me in that don't-tell-your-brothers kind of way, and I loved how, before she'd gift something to me, she would thank or congratulate me on something she'd noticed that I was doing well. It let me know that she indeed did notice the little things, despite my being quietly placed in the middle of my brothers in birth order. And, probably most resonant of all, my mother never judged me. I could tell her any secret, fess up to any wrongdoing, and my mother was always a safe place. When I looked at my mother she was always strong, hardworking, beautiful, wise, and in the best way she knew how, tried to keep our family and home glued by love. I knew, very early, just what kind of mother I wanted to be, because of her.

I distinctly remember one of the first times I really hurt my mother's feelings. I was usually MIA on the weekends at my cousin's or best friend's house a few blocks away, and on this particularly beautiful weekend my mom pitched the radical idea of me staying home and hanging out with her. She was, as usual, hard at work cleaning something when I snapped back: "All we're going to do is TALK!" Even I felt weird saying the words, because truly, talking with her was one of the things I treasured most. And for some reason I'll never forget the look of subtle shock and pain on her face. "Okay, you can go then," was all she responded. I've had plenty more less than daughter-of-the-year moments with my mother, but for some reason that one always stuck with me. I felt guilty leaving, and mainly did so so that I didn't have to stand in front of her in the wake of those awful words I uttered.

It's truly ironic how we tend to take for granted the people we love the most. This might have to do with the simple fact that it's usually family, so you're in the same, tight quarters, for the same, seemingly endless amounts of time, and you're all just enough alike in that nuisance-rather-than-novelty kinda way. As children tend to do, I inevitably took my mother for granted the more and more I aged. I believe something happens, though, when you grow up - you realize your mom is ::gasp:: a human being. And with that, we sometimes tend to focus on shortcomings rather than the super-human-like qualities they possess (as listed above). My mother and I, at the end of the day, have always had a good relationship. I know that no matter what, come what may, she will always be there for me and I for her. But between my inherited stubbornness, teenage angst, can-do-no-wrong teenage boyfriend, and my early onset independence, the relationship with my mother became less of a necessity. And for a time it seemed like my mother- and sister-in-laws were the women I felt, like flowers, I needed to tend to more. This was mainly because if I was in my then-boyfriend's presence, I was also in theirs. Anyone who's spouse comes from a matriarch (whereas I was raised in a patriarch) understands the intricacies of this. At any rate, when I left home for college - bags packed weeks in advance, despite how it made my mother feel - our relationship changed that much more.

Suffice it say that while I was in new territory and busy with first-generation college life - playing more video games and beach-bumming than note-taking I hate to admit, as a now admissions specialist - my mother had more than her share of challenges to face in her now empty nest. While I didn't ask for much, the things I did ask for I expected to be done and in my projected timeline in that nineteen-year-old-world-revolving-around-me manner. The less we talked, the more that happened, and the less understanding we became of each other. I was also busy worshipping my boyfriend, who was now the Superman that took place of my Wonder Woman.

While I was pregnant with my daughter, and in the first couple years of new mom-dom, in my attempt to keep my independence and know-it-all entact I was sure I knew what I was doing and asserted as such. I tended to focus on the little things I would do differently than the parenting I knew. I would never yell, never forget a promise, never be impatient, and never impose any of those gosh-awful remedies or practices the generation before me did. First of all, I can tell you never did one of those things never happen! We all have those moments when something comes out of our mouth that we could swear was our mother's voice, like some sort of possession, coming out of us. We look down, as if we're morphing into a werewolf under the light of a full moon, shaking, looking at ourselves in disbelief thinking: I'm turning into my mother!

But the one thing and feeling I'll never forget upon entering motherhood is, despite thinking I knew it all, how naturally mothering came to me, and how a part of me it truly is. This was from my mother. The times I sit down with my daughter to calm and coax her through taking a sip of medicine, that is my mother. The times we spend in the bathroom talking girl gibberish, while she lovingly watches me put on makeup, that is my mother. The times my daughter and I blare old-time country music and dance and laugh around the house, that is my mother. And the times when, even though I don't know how something will turn out, but assure my daughter everything will be okay - that is my mother. I have found that, on most occasions, that turning-into-a-werewolf feeling is actually me doing all of the things that, when I was little, I promised I would do for my daughter one day.

And so, to you Mom: I may sometimes take you for granted. I may sometimes do things differently than you. I may sometimes butt heads with you. I may sometimes act as if I don't need you. But, I have truly come to believe it is not only because you have led me beside you, but guided me - even farther - into being the same strong, hardworking, beautiful, and wise woman I know you to be. If there is any wish we have for our children, it is just that. And I know that because you lengthened my road, I will be able to do the same for my daughter, and your granddaughter, as well.

Thank you.

Tags: mothers, thank you, reflection, appreciation, love (add/remove)