Thanks, Mom!

Take a look around… it can pretty well be assumed that everyone you see is on this earth because of a mother (and, so it goes, a father).  Daunting thought if you consider we have over 6 billion people in the world.   Not that everyone is a mom (although those who are sometimes get caught up in the passion and sign up for multiple tours of duty) or has a desire to be a mom, but we all have one and frankly, that amazes me. Mom’s come in all shapes and sizes, temperaments and personalities and they broke the mold after each and every one was made.

Today is the one day of the year that is specifically designated to honor mom, to tell her we love her and thank her for, well… um, what exactly?  May I suggest some obvious items to go on the “thanks mom” list, to show gratitude for the one person who stood by your side, encouraged you through thick and thin (as in the proverbial chubby years), aggravated the hell out of you during those tumultuous teen years, gave a shoulder to cry on when it was needed, was your all around cheerleader, and always thought there was something special about you when all the world didn’t.  Thanks mom for...

Once you sign up to be a mom, it is a full time, life long endeavor that doesn’t end when your child moves out of the house.  Every time I encounter a situation that needs a bit of guidance, I hear my mom’s voice in my head and consider the advice it is giving me.  I am not sure how it happened, but it seems my mom has gotten smarter over the years and 9 out of 10 times the wisdom she holds (and freely dispenses) is right on (much to my chagrin).

It also took becoming a mom myself to appreciate my own mom.  She repeatedly pointed out to me that this would be the case and wished upon me a child just like I had been.  I got lucky; my child was a gentler, wiser and much calmer child than I ever was.

My mom may be gone but she can never be forgotten.  When I hear myself say something of hers (that I used to think was corny, but now seems so relevant) or watch a mannerism of mine that emulates one of hers or look down at my own hands and see the ones she so capably cared for me with, I feel a little bit closer to knowing the mom I want my son to remember me as.

Mom, I would also like to thank you for the guilt gene.  As you have passed this on to me, I have been passing it on to my son (since conception) and hopefully he (not always saved just for mom’s, dad’s have a talent with this, too) will continue the cycle with his children.  Because, what would Mother’s Day be without a little guilt to guarantee a call, a card or a special dinner out with your loved ones?

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-