My mom would do anything to make her girls happy. Here's a perfect example. The year....1981 or 1982? Not entirely sure. But all I know is that I was a girl who wanted a Cabbage Patch Kid. Bad. For those of you not around in those times, Cabbage Patch Kids were new then, and they were all the rage. And they were absolutely impossible to get. You didn't simply go to Toys R Us and pick one out off of the shelves. They were snatched up as soon as the truck with the shipment came in. I don't remember if it was for Christmas or my birthday, but I do know that I asked for a Cabbage Patch Kid. I remember getting an "IOU" note wrapped in a box. And then, some time shortly thereafter, my mother went to the store, stood in line with many, many other parents who wanted the same thing, and waited in that line for hours, probably getting pushed and shoved a bit, until she was handed a Cabbage Patch Kid. Even then I think I appreciated the significance of my mommy, waiting in this crazy line because she wanted to give me the one thing I really wanted. I still have that Cabbage Patch Kid today, and the special way I received her has never left my mind.
Family was my mother's top priority, and she would do whatever it took to make sure we had a happy home. When I was nine, my dad was laid off from work for awhile. It was a rough time for our family. Probably a lot rougher than I realized at the time, because we were shielded from it by our parents. My mom, who had up until then chosen to stay home and raise my sister and me, took a job at a department store working nights and weekends so that we wouldn't have to feel the financial hurt. She spent all day taking care of my five year old sister and me, and then, probably already exhausted, she went to Kaufmann's and stood on her feet for a few more hours so that she could bring in some income for our family. I remember those months well, and I never wanted for anything, even in those dire financial times.
My mom always allowed me to be who and what I wanted to be. When I was 11 or 12, I was so in love with the New Kids On The Block. My mother allowed me to plaster my bedroom with magazine pictures and posters of Joe McIntyre and the rest of my famous crushes. And by plaster, I mean floor-to-ceiling, back of the door, every white space on the wall---covered. In our brand new house. Stuck up on the wall with yellow masking tape. It must have killed her, and, not to make her into a saint, I do seem to remember some loud sighs and complaints about the whole thing, but she let me do it. She let my bedroom be my own space. And a few years later, when I outgrew the whole thing, she painted my tape-stained room pink while I was away on a high school trip. Now that's love!
My mother always wanted me to feel good about myself, and was always telling me how special I was, and that someday, the boys would notice too. (That never really happened, except for one boy, but he was the one that mattered, anyway, so I guess in a way she was right.) When I was a gawky, awkward young teen, I would come home from the junior high and high school dances that I insisted on torturing myself by attending, usually a little depressed and wondering why I bothered. Very often, the next day, my mom would tell me that a particular boy in my class (who was the son of one of her best friends) had come home from the dance and told his mother how pretty I had looked that night. Looking back now, I realize this was probably a big fat lie on my mother's part. I mean, what 13 year old boy do you know who comes home from a dance and tells his mother that the geeky girl down the street looked really pretty at the dance? (By the way, he did ask me to dance a few times, but I'm sure it was out of pity and probably because his mother had put him up to it.) But even if all of this was a big made up story, a conspiracy concocted between my mother and her friend, or by my mother all on her own, at the time I believed her, and those little compliments thrown my way third hand filled me up and made me believe in myself just a little bit more. Lie or not, my mom knew this was something I needed, and she gave it to me.
And finally, the story that sparked the idea for this entry. I was a sophomore in high school. I had recently been broken up with (after a very brief romance) by the boy I had been in love with since seventh grade. I was completely heartbroken. That year for Christmas, when our relationship was new, he had given me a gold herringbone bracelet. I wore that thing all the time, even after we broke up, as a symbol that what we'd had had really happened, and had mattered, even though this boy was trying to pretend that it hadn't. One day, I lost the bracelet at school. Somehow it had fallen off of my wrist. I realized this when I was at home that afternoon, changing my clothes to get ready for orchestra festival, which I had to play in that evening. I was absolutely hysterical about losing this bracelet. It was a symbol of the lost relationship, the one tangible thing from it that I had to hold on to. I cried, I ranted, I screamed...the whole bit. And I couldn't do anything about it. I had to get ready, go back to school, and get on the bus for festival. My sweet mother, who, I'm sure, had far better things to do, and who likely thought the whole thing was ridiculous, drove up to the high school, walked the halls of a school big enough to house 1200 students, and searched the floors for that damn bracelet. Amazingly, she located a custodian who had found it on the floor somewhere and rescued it from the dust pan. But my mother was the real hero of that day. I remember how amazingly euphoric I was when I got home from festival and she told me, "You won't believe it, but I found it." I don't have the boy anymore (thank God for that!), but I still have that bracelet. And more importantly, that incident always stayed with me. It was a visible reminder of the incredible lengths my mother would go to in order to take away my hurt and make it better.
And now....twenty years later....my mother is still sacrificing for me, still doing what she can to ease my burdens and provide me with the life I want to have. She, along with my awesome dad, sacrifices her Fridays every week (and often other days too), to come and spend the day with my children, so that I can have time of my own (something that, it is not lost on me, she didn't have much of when my sister and I were growing up). She never thinks twice if I ask her to help me out, no matter how often, or how late, or how long she might have to stay. She comes into my messy house and tries to restore order, by doing dishes, folding laundry, putting the labels on the stars I have to make for church each week...whatever needs doing in order to help me feel more sane. I appreciate her more than she will ever know. Sure, we have always butted heads (and still often do). But I think that's a sign of a strong relationship. Ours is one that can overcome such disagreements. It can foster a sense of mutual respect even when we heatedly disagree. I could come up with a million more little stories like these if I sat here long enough. But these, I think, illustrate the wonderful woman and mother that my mom is. She taught me how to be a mom, and that is the most important lesson any woman who has children can learn.
I love you, Mom. Happy Mothers' Day!
I love this! My mom has similar war stories about the hunt for cabbage patch kids.
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