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You put up with lots of stuff from me growing up. Like my obsession with keeping the parsley garnish every time we went out to eat. What was with that? I still remember you telling me to put it in your purse, and that when I did your purse smelled like lipstick and Kleenex. How annoying was that to have to dig it out and throw it away every time? You put up with the fact that I have always been one of the pickiest eaters and I'm really glad you never did make "shit rolled in oats and fried" when you were frustrated with my eating habits. Dad probably thanks you too.
Because it was just me, and you couldn't be with me every second of the day, you taught me to be able to happily play alone. Is that why I had so many Barbies? Today my desire to be alone is both a blessing and a curse, but I'm still very glad I can be alone for extended periods of time without going crazy. You let me learn how to have fun even without access to toys, not getting annoyed when I wanted to keep large boxes Dad brought home, for weeks at a time turning them from houses into cars into forts into who knows what. You consistently delt with my screaming for you in the middle of the night when I'd roll off my bed and into my nightstand. What about that time for a full year when I refused to sleep in my bed, instead sleeping on the floor in a sleeping bag? Or when I did return to my bed but insisted on having every spare pillow in the house piled on top of it, 2-3 feet above where the bed should have been? Are you sure I wasn't mentally impared as a child?
You gave me more leeway with television that most parents did at the time. I had a TV in my room at a young age. Back then all I watched was Nick at Night, and even though I'm sure this contributed to my current TV addiction, I got to experience so many shows that most people of my generation never did. Green Acres, Mr. Ed, Dobie Gillis, Donna Reed, Dick Van Dyke, My Favorite Martian...the list goes on and on. Later, you didn't care that I watched Ren and Stimpy or Beevis and Butthead. You barely flinched when I watched Terminator 2 at age nine, and never objected to me reading "adult" books like Stephen King and Michael Crichton before I was even an adolescent. I'm not certain, but I think I moved on from those books when I was 13. You simply recognized that some of the subject matter may have been above my head, but my reading level and comprehension was such that being forced to read James and the Giant Peach would have bored me to death. Besides, I had read that years prior. You were always proud of my reading skills and interest in books.
You taught me the value of family, letting me spend a week every summer at Nan's. I think you understood the value of being in that atmosphere, too, helping out in the garden and being out of the "city." You let me spend the afternoon with Dadaus, even though you knew she was letting me eat straight brown sugar by the bowlful. You wanted me to experience some of the things you had as a child, and I'm sure none of us will ever forget you spraying mud out of mine and Zach's butt cracks with the water hose after we played in the mud. Those are the experiences and memories that last a lifetime and are priceless no matter how silly or minor they seemed at the time. You might have known I would grow up to love cooking with as many "meals" as I made with subpar vegetables from the garden, weeds, rocks, mud and sticks.
Even though I now know that you gave me Benadryl every night to make me go to sleep (not because of my mosquito bites), you let me play outside every night until dark, or even past, in the summer. Riding bikes, swimming and having lemonade stands. Or even waiting out by the road all day for New Kids on the Block to come by. You didn't tell us they wouldn't. You let us do it even though it was quite possibly the dumbest thing ever. You laughed at me again when I tried to be Pee Wee Herman but fell asleep with my face all taped up with Scotch Tape. You handled yourself well when I found my Easter candy in the closet, and my teeth in that box by your bed. From the time I was little you knew you had a nosy little twit on your hands! You let me play with glitter and melt crayons on the lightbulb in my toy closet. You let me draw on the walls in my bedroom closet and even consented to my drastic room redcoration in middle and high school. First dark teal, then bright ass blue. You didn't say a word when I basically wallpapered the walls with posters and pictures and everything else. Then you pulled all the staples out one by one when I moved out, and had a sense of humor about the hole in the door I had been hiding for years with a poster.
You never made me play sports. You never made me be in beauty pagents or be a cheerleader. You never made me do chores (probably not the best idea, in hindsight!). You just supported me in the things I wanted to do, like helping me bake the 1st Place winning corn muffins for 4-H. You let me go to 4-H camp, even though you knew it made me miserable for the first two days, because you know by the end of the week I wouldn't want to come home. I'm sorry for that terrible letter I sent you that one time. :)
Then I got a little older. It seemed like you made me do everything I didn't want to and for no good reason at all. Other than just being a mean bitch who wanted to ruin my life. You made me come home by cerfew. You made me concentrate on my homework and get good grades. You made me get a job when I started driving. You made me pay for the mistakes I made so often then. I dressed funny and dyed my hair crazy colors, but you knew I'd grow out of it. I had a different bozo boyfriend almost every month it seemed, and you dealt with that even when my Homecoming date had lime green hair and went by "Germ." You made me behave, even though you didn't think it was working. Sure, I snuck around and did things I shouldn't have but always in the back of my mind I knew I had to make good decisions and stay out of *major* trouble. I didn't want to disappoint you or Dad. I really didn't, even though many of the things I said and did from the ages of 16 to 18 seemed to show otherwise. I'm not sure there is a greater challenge on planet Earth than dealing with a teenage GIRL. Thinking back on some of the things I said to you at that time, I would have killed me if I had been you. I don't even like to think about it today because its embarassing and I'm ashamed and please know that I am sorry. But there's something about the mind of a teenage girl that can't see what good her mother is trying to do for her, and God's punishment for that is that just a few short years down the road you do finally understand. Then you have to turn around and say, "You know what Mom? You were actually right. About everything." I honestly believe that if I ever do have a child it will be a girl, because that is the only way God can make me truly atone for my sins as a teenager--to have to raise a teenage daughter myself. I can only pray that you will still be around to watch, and laugh and say, "I TOLD YOU SO!!!" That would be your reward!
You allowed me to take a semester off in college, even though you wanted desperately for me to finish and succeed. I think deep down you knew that working 40 hours a week at Starbucks would show me pretty quickly that I didn't want to do that for the rest of my life--that paying your bills and actually getting by wouldn't be easy, and partying all the time and not going to school wasn't going to be as fun as I expected. You were right.
By the time I graduated from Belmont in 2004 I think you realized you had done a decent enough job of raising me. We took that trip to Gulf Shores with Becky and Andi, Pam and Ashley. I think we bonded as two adult women for the first time on that trip. Then I broke your heart by moving to D.C. and planning to build my future there. I know you knew it was for the best and I had to find my own way, but I know how worried you were and how hard it was to let me go. Again, you knew what you were doing because that city and that career wasn't really for me. And when I finally had distance between us I realized I didn't want it there. I realized that you, and Dad, were the only parents I had or would ever have, and I really did want to stay close to home. Some people might say that's not the best idea, and many people live their entire adult lives far away from parents that they do care about and love. You can have a good relationship with your parents and live far away. Each person has their own deal and can choose what they wish. I chose to come home, and part of that decision I think, was formed by watching your great relationship with your mother my whole life. In that regard you truly taught me by example, and I'm greatful.
So I came home. I was completely done with school, but didn't know yet what I wanted to do with my life. I spent a year just kind of stuck in the same place trying to figure it out. You never told me what to do. You barely even gave me advice. You just listened and supported me and let me know that no matter what I decided, you'd be there. I eventually made some major changes in my life, and sure enough, you were right there. You helped me pick out my house. You helped me move into the new house and get it situated. You even come over and clean my house when I'm too busy and/or tired to deal with it myself. You always clean my toilets because you know I just won't. You were nice and welcoming to the new guy I brought around, even though I hadn't been out of my last relationship long. I know as quickly as we met and fell for each other it could have seemed like a bad idea, but you never once said anything or treated him anything but warmly. You, and everyone else, welcomed him right into the family.
You didn't bat an eye when I said I was going to quit my job and work with him. You might have been shocked, but not surprised, when I told you we decided to get married. You gave us your ring for me to wear, and every time I look at it I still think of you (and Dad and your successful 30 years together) and hope someday I may have a daughter I can pass it along to, as well. It may not be "the ring of my dreams" and I may not wear it as my engagement ring forever, but it is more meaningful than anything else we could have had at the time--or now. It showed me that you truly approved of our decision, and being able to have a family ring that is so beautiful, is all part of what a true marriage is about.
You helped me plan my wedding without being overbearing and scary like some mothers-of-the-bride can be. You dealt with the tight schedule and listened to what I wanted and helped make it happen. You beamed with happiness when I tried my dress on for the first time and we both knew it was perfect. As excited as I was, I think you were more. You ordered those cute little napkins even though I didn't ask for them. When my wedding day came you didn't mind that I needed a Xanax and a cigarette to calm down. You just drove me to the church, did my hair and laced me up in my perfect dress. You even buckled my shoes because I couldn't bend down. Ultimately I think you were more nervous than I was, but you put the fear into Danny and he got my groom to the church on time! I'm sure a mother watching her daughter get married is a completely different exprience than a dad watching the same event. You were honestly happy for me--for us--that day, and helped it all go off without a hitch!
In the 21 months (to the day) since I've been married you have continued to be a great mother to me, but also a great mother-in-law. I am so grateful that you love Kirby, and he loves you, and that we've continuted to have a great relationship now that I have a "family" of my own to take care of. Both you and Dad have brought him into our family and treat him as if he were your own son. You've helped us at home, around the shop, and been there for us during good times and bad. We've also gone through alot as a family in that time, and even the bad or rough times I look back on fondly for the positive effects they've had on our lives. Most recently, last weekend, you went to shore up the shop against the flood while we were gone and went back the next day to clean up the small mess that was left behind, despite being as terrified as we were of what you might find there.
Over the last two months I've also had the life-changing experience of watching you take care of your own mother, helping her rehabilitate after her surgery, at a great personal expense. It made me face things I did not yet want to--such as what will I do, or how will I handle doing the same when my time comes? I can only hope to do as good a job as you have done, and with such composure and grace as you have. I'm betting you hope the same! But after all we've been through and all you have done for me you've "earned your keep" in that regard! I promise I'll do my best and not let your wheelchair roll out into traffic!
For all the good times and bad, big things and small, you've had a profound impact on who I am today. I hope you are proud of who that is, even with some of my oddities (we'll call them). I hope you can see the areas of my life and personality that you influenced--like my stubbornenss, independence, intelligence, cooking skills (but not baking!), propensity to laugh at inappropriate times and my skillfully honed "stink eye." Of course there are areas in which we couldn't be more opposite--my inability to clean anything, extreme dislike of hot weather and outdoor activities, the willingness to leave the house without makeup, or the ability to occasionally root for the Red Wings when the circumstances demand. And even though no one is 100% perfect you've been about as perfect a mother as anyone could ask for. I know I probably don't express my appreciation enough, and you've spent the last 28 years of your life trying to make mine better. But I hope you know how much I appreciate you simply because I haven't ditched you in a dumpster somewhere!
I also hope you haven't had a "Bo Duke Breakdown" while reading this. Happy Mother's Day Mom!!!
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