I posted a picture of my backyard yesterday and Kari was all,
Girl, you've got no idea.
I really didn't think it through when I told Jimi the house with the big yard was the best one.
Of course, he hadn't yet told me of his "grass allergy", either, so how was I to know?
Happy Mothers Day to all of the Mommas out there! My Momma spent the weekend with her sisters; she'll be back home this afternoon and the plan is for Jimi and I to go over and make dinner and plant the lilies we got to replace the ones that were accidentally mowed over last year (Dad). Daddy's birthday is tomorrow, so I've gotta figure out something for that - nothing like waiting till the last minute. It'll all be fine.
I've been reading the things you've all written about your moms and how much they mean to you, and I want to do that for my Momma, too, but I feel like I'd probably do it wrong. I don't know; I don't feel like I'm a very good daughter sometimes. I love my Momma more than just about anything else in the world, but I take her for granted; I don't spend time with her the way I should, I don't invite her over for dinner or to bake, we don't meet out for lunch and shopping once a week or even once a month. I'm pretty sure I went three months without seeing her after New Year's and she only lives 20 minutes up the road. It's shameful. I know I won't have her around forever, but it feels like she'll always be there because I can't imagine an alternative; she couldn't possibly grow old and die because she's my Mommy and she still has so much to teach me!
Sometimes I feel like I've let her down by not having a grandchild or two for her yet; like there was a way things were supposed to work out and giving her grandbabies was on the agenda and I've not done my part. She doesn't make me feel that way - she doesn't pressure or nag - I just feel like I've let her down. And I fear that if I wait too long I won't have her wealth of knowledge and advice at my disposal.
Jimi asked me last night what Momma's favorite meal is, and I don't know the answer. I could only come up with "chicken livers" - I know she loves them, but I don't think they're her favorite. She likes eggs but can't eat many of them because they make her belly hurt. Her favorite color is green. She's left-handed and she plays the piano beautifully - she can open up a piece of music for the first time and play it like she's practiced for days. She goes to the grocery probably 5 times a week. She cooks dinner almost every night even if there won't be anyone but her to eat while it's hot. She's a worrier - all the women from that line are, me included. She's brilliant with money - Daddy says it's all because of her that the banks would be happy to lend them more money than they could ever hope to pay back. She makes delicious healthy foods and says they're not worth eating because she forgot to add this or she put in too much of that - Granny did that too, and apparently, so do I.
She says she's not my friend - she's my Mother. There's a difference. At 31, I'm still working to get her to revise her stance on this topic - I get why it was important 10 or 15 years ago, but these days? Not so much.
I love holding her hand or hugging her close to me; she's my Momma, and it feels like coming home to touch her. I know I'm always safe and loved when she's in the room. Her smell is Aromatics Elixir from Clinique - if I get a whiff on another woman in a store, I have to call Momma to tell her I love her because she suddenly feels close.
She always has the right words. When an ex-boyfriend hurt me and I had to leave the apartment we shared, I thought I'd have to suck up my pride and beg to go back home - Momma's words were "Natalie, you get what you have to bring and you come home. And for God's sake, don't let your father find out what he did." I don't remember the exact words either of us used when I called her from El Paso to tell her my husband wanted a divorce, but I remember the fear I felt dialing the phone, and the relief that washed over for me when she said she was just so sad for me, but that I was strong and she admired my strength and that she'd get my bedroom ready for me again - and then she sent me a check to pay for my moving expenses. And last year, when I was pregnant and then I wasn't, she loved me and cried for me and with me and told me everything was going to be okay and I believed her because she's my Momma and she'd never lie to me.
She's my Momma and everything I have, everything I am, is because of and thanks to her. She's taught me everything I know, but I still have so much to learn. I'll try harder, Momma, I promise. I'll do better.
Happy Mother's Day to all of my friends out there in blogland, also. You've all taught me a lot - about life, family, friendship, womanhood. Like a community of motherly knowledge I can draw from - thank you.
In other news, this: