Happy Birthday, Mom!

I don't usually bother with people's birthdays on my blog-- it feels like too much pressure to try and do that each year for every single person who I love. Especially since our birthdays all seem to cluster together, which means every few months, I'd have to write several posts like this in a week or something! But this morning I'm feeling inspired, so here goes anyway.

This is my Mom holding Bentley a few days after he was born, and it's one of my favorite pictures of her:

Bentley, caught mid-stretch, looks pretty goofy, but oh, well...

And this one, obviously, is from my wedding day. I was thrilled when I saw it and realized I have my Mom's same nose! All my life I thought I had my Dad's nose-- which looks fine on him, but seemed a little large for my face. This picture was the Beginning of Acceptance for my nose.

Anyway. Just now I was doing dishes. I can't wash dishes without wearing rubber gloves-- something I learned from my Mom-- and one of mine just ripped, so I found another one to replace it. That's all good, but now the two are mismatched (one blue, one yellow) and different sizes. For some reason, staring at these gloves reminded me of the time I was grocery shopping with my Mom and she needed a new pair of rubber gloves. Looking at the store's selection, I commented that I didn't know the rubber gloves came in different sizes.

"Would you like me to buy you some in your size?" my Mom asked, using her best waitress smile.

But I was too quick for her, "No. Then you'd expect me to do the dishes all the time."

And my Mom grimaced because I had totally caught her at her game. She must not have looked too crestfallen or anything, though, because I mostly just remember feeling really smart right then. My Mom has always been good at making me feel smart.

When I was an awkward teenager who seemed to barely be able to make conversation with my peers-- somehow I'd always end up talking about some weird thing that no one else had ever heard of-- my Mom always assured me that the problem here was that I was just too smart. No one could keep up with how quickly my brain jumped from topic to topic. (Looking back, I think I was just weird and that my tastes were too eclectic for any normal person to have a clue what I was talking about. But my Mom's explanation still made me feel better.)

My Mom has instilled in me a lot of those eclectic tastes, actually. I love to read a good mystery, or any decent novel, for that matter. I love opera. I like Rush Limbaugh and Michael Medved. I'm starting to love Russian history and early British history, all favorites of my Mom. I have more than adopted the snobby standard she set for my sisters and me with music (although it has since broadened out to include literature, too,) when she declared that she would rather we listen to really good classical music than mediocre church music. (Amen, sister!) I can appreciate a cool, grey day as well as a sparkling, sunny one. I still think there's nothing much funnier than Stan Freburg Presents the United States of America.

And more and more, I realize that the way I try to mother my own children is exactly how I remember my Mom taking care of my sisters and me. I don't remember my mom playing on the floor with us much, or doing art projects with us. But I remember her just being there with us all the time and enjoying our company. And that's how I feel about my own kids: I just like being with them. I like them for who they are. I like peering over my book and seeing what games they're playing together. They make me happy.

And of course, I remember occasional bouts of absolute silliness that still make me laugh-- my favorite was the time we were all watching TV in the kitchen while my Mom cleaned up, and suddenly a commercial came on for Cream of Wheat. In the commercial, a crowd of people were all holding boxes of Cream of Wheat high above their heads, shaking them and chanting, "Cream of Wheat! Cream of Wheat!" My Mom just happened to be putting the same thing away and found herself with two boxes in her hands, so she began shaking them and dancing around the kitchen joining in the chant, "Cream of Wheat! Cream of Wheat!" My Mom can be wonderfully goofy sometimes. I hope my own kids will get to see that side of myself as well. Not all the time, mind you-- just when I absolutely can't resist.

This isn't the stuff that Hallmark cards and parenting awards are made of, but I distinctly remember having a very happy childhood, which I appreciate more and more these days. If I can give my own kids a happy childhood, then I'll call myself a success.

Just like I think of my own mother.

Happy birthday, Mom! I love you!!!