Abraham Lincoln said it best: Everything I am in life I owe to my angel mother.
When I decided to start this blog, I called my mom and we talked
about what its name should be. She came up with The Odd
Broad, of course. Nobody knows me like her.
When I was little she would sit on the edge of our bathtub and
tell me elaborate stories about Grover, because I was terrified to pee
alone. (Apparently Grover had this very same issue, and his mommy sat
with him, too.) I was always afraid of something, it seemed, and she was always there to make it better. If this ever bothered her, I never knew it; because she certainly never showed it.
She sent me to nursery school early, concerned that I was too
attached to her. (I was. Probably still am.) I had no interest in leaving her, however, and told her so in no uncertain terms. When she'd ask,
"How was school?" I'd tell her I had no friends and nobody talked to me.
(Lies.)
If my mother had a day off from work, sometimes my sister and I would
get off the school bus and find that she'd rearranged our rooms. We
loved it. At Christmas time she'd transform our home into a winter
wonderland.
My mother has the prettiest brown eyes but if you try to tell her this she'll roll them. My dad tells her she's the most beautiful woman in the world. (She'll roll them at that, too.) She insists that she's not sweet, but she can't help it, people are going to think she is anyway.
Special needs people are drawn to my mother and will remember her, years later, and seek her out in a crowd. We're not really sure why.
My mother throws a killer party. She has this way of making the people around her feel
very comfortable. She's secretly a little shy, but nobody would ever guess
this because she's so friendly.
My mother makes me laugh. Her sense of humor is really quite twisted. It sneaks up on people because her face is so kind looking.
She's fond of a nice glass of White Zinfandel on a Saturday night. She's not against boxed wine, either. Her snack of choice is a cup of tea and a strawberry pop tart. She's an excellent cook, and now that Sissy and I are adults, she'll even take double requests.
I firmly believe the only reason my mother wears sunglasses is so she can people watch. This woman turns people watching into an art form.
I'd be willing to bet money she's never gotten a manicure or pedicure.
My mother never asked either of her daughters the following questions: When are you moving home? When are you getting married? When are you having children? That's not the way she rolls. Thank God.
She knows her way around a DVR and adores seedy crime dramas. But she knows we can't watch them together, because I find them too upsetting.
My Mother is strong. She tries to do the right thing, even if the other person might not deserve it. She puts her faith in God and the Blessed Mother.
We could easily spend three hours shopping together at Kohl's, and Sissy adamantly refuses to go there with us.
My mother acts like she isn't an animal person. (But secretly I think she is.)
My mother is kind of a workaholic. (But don't tell her that, she'll get annoyed.)
She absolutely loves being a grandmother.
She likes me to read her tarot.
My mother's love makes me strong. It has allowed me to do things I would never have thought I could do otherwise. She has this way of turning to her daughters, when we're in mid sentence, and saying something wonderful like, "You are just so beautiful."
Being loved by her has been one of the most important blessings in my life. I will always be searching for ways to tell my mother that I love her.
xoxo
My mother is a poem
I'll never be able to write,
though everything I write
is a poem to my mother.
~Sharon Doubiago
