Thanks, Mom

As apparent as this may seem, it isn’t always obvious.  At times it can be questionable, doubtful or downright iffy, but the fact of the matter is that every human being has a mother (and a father, but we will tackle the birds and bees at another time). 

It is almost scary when you start to think that every person you see in the course of your life was pretty much started in the same way.  Whether your attributes lean toward beanpole, academic, curvaceous, timid, geeky, preppy, athletic, gothic or anything in-between, we should give thanks to and be grateful for the woman who, without her, we would not be at all.

The truth is that I didn’t always appreciate my mom.  I went through a stage, from about the ages of thirteen to 22 that she didn’t really seem to know much.  I was embarrassed by the clothes she wore, the way she spoke and pretty much everything she stood for.  I wanted to hide in a hole and escape only when the coast was clear.  On the other hand, and something I didn’t understand or welcome at the time, was that my friends loved her.  They thought she was the best mom a person could ask for.  She listened well, cooked and baked like a master chef, dressed stylish and was very “cool”.  Even when she was relegated to the simple title of “Cindy’s mom” and lost her own identity, she reveled in every aspect of motherhood.  She was always the mom the other kids wanted to be with.  Even if I wasn’t home, my friends would solicit her wisdom on subjects ranging from academics and cheerleading to what dress would look the best on them for the upcoming dance.  She was a patient consoler of spirits and intervened only when asked.

It only took being out a few years on my own, going through the trials and tribulations of life and having a child, to realize that my mom was now, after all these years, really becoming quite intelligent.  It amazed me how much more insight, patience, and overall wiser she had become than when I was a kid.  Where did all this come from? Had she been secretly reading up and studying? It was only a matter of seconds that I realized she had had these characteristics all along and I was the one that was actually learning and becoming smarter through her help and experience.  She had always been there for the asking and now I understood it was okay to ask and found out she was an “okay” mom.

Fortunately, I was able to figure this out sooner than later.  I count my lucky stars that I learned to appreciate her before she died and that we shared a decade of friendship, camaraderie and support that only a mom can provide (who else would tell you that your hair looks horrible, let your child ransack her prized garden of tomatoes, make you your favorite chocolate cake, let you know you have too many pounds, call and request the presence of your child for an overnight stay so that you and your snuggle bug can reconnect, and remind you of some of the bad choices you have made… and still love you unconditionally?). 

Mom’s come in a lot of different sizes, styles and temperaments.  The job comes without a description, little training and no pay.  I already know that to be a “good” mom is easier said than done but that a hug and a smile from your child make it worth the effort to try.  I know the time will come with my child, when I am not as knowledgeable as I thought I was and the cycle of motherhood will continue.

Happy Mother’s Day and thank-you to all of the mom’s who have sacrificed a bit of themselves for all of us, their kids.

Cynthia A. McClelland, curious observer of the obvious with interpretations of the oddities of daily life.  Mother, wife and lover of the furry, resides in the north Lake Tahoe area.

Cynthia A. McClelland © 2003-