As I sit here, waiting for my dough to rise and my sauce to simmer (you’ll have to wait to see what I’m making!), I thought I’d say a few words about my mom, seeing as it’s Mother’s Day. Sorry for the divergence, but I’m sure Gwyneth would approve. Also, my mom emailed me to say that she’s waiting for a new blog post from me, and then yelled at me again when I called to wish her a happy Mother’s Day. So, this should shut her up.
The embarrassing photo to the left is my mom, who is going to love that this is being posted so publicly. The older pictures of her are kind of horrifying, but my dad got lucky in that she got better as she aged. She looks nothing like that disgruntled monster to the left anymore, trust me. But that picture is too good to NOT post. Sorry, Mom. (She’ll want me to tell you all that she’s had NO work done. Unless things have changed since I was last home.)
Anyway, I can’t imagine anyone else ever had a better mom. She worked full-time at making sure my sisters and I had the best upbringing possible. She gave us boundaries, so we weren’t a bunch of wild creatures running around the streets, but she also let us make our own mistakes, and gave us enough freedom and trust so we never felt stifled, or the resentment other kids our age seemed to show towards their parents. Our house was always the place for our friends to come hang out, and at times it felt like we were living in Grand Central Station (one friend of my sister would sometimes come over and fix herself lunch when my sister wasn’t even home). But my mom seemed to love it, and she became a second mom to many, many kids.
I got a lot of my personality from my mom, but the thing I’m most grateful to have picked up is her sense of humor. She rarely finds a situation – no matter how serious – that she can’t make a joke out of, and she’s quicker and wittier than most people I know. She’s also completely shameless, which makes her all the more hilarious. When she and her wild group of friends would come to visit my sisters or I at college, all of our friends would want to come out with us, because it was guaranteed to be a blast. Without any sense of irony, I’m sure my sisters would agree that some of our funniest nights in college happened with our mom.
(One example: We were visiting my little sister at school last year over the weekend, and my sister had to go to a party at her boyfriend’s house that night. So we dropped her off at her apartment and said goodnight, and then my mom and her friend Jan decided it would be hilarious if we crashed the party. So we drove to the boyfriend’s apartment building and knocked on his apartment door. The look of absolute horror on his face as he opened the door was priceless, and his immediate reaction was to slam the door on us. He then reopened the door and invited us in, and the moms proceeded to force the boyfriend and his brothers to pose for Christmas photos on the couch, as a group of confused college kids wondered just what had happened to their party. My sister showed up fifteen minutes later, and it’s impossible to describe the look on her face. Just imagine you’re in college, and you went to a party at your boyfriend’s house and your MOM answered his door.)
My mom is also about a nice a person as you can find. She slows down entire restaurants when we go out to eat, because she asks the server all about his or her life. She’s genuinely interested in everyone, and she can’t stop trying to help people. She does a lot for a local abused women’s shelter, and helps out a large amount of other charities. She’s been there for me every time I needed her – during one recent tough period I was going through, she was on vacation with my dad, but seriously offered to fly me down to the Caribbean to join them, if that would make me feel better. I didn’t take her up on the offer, because I am an idiot.
There’s a million other things I could say about my mom. I couldn’t even begin to tell my favorite stories about her, because there are too many to count. But I should say that, being a middle child, not only did I have to compete for attention with the favorite older sibling and the baby younger one, but I also had to compete with the coolest mom anyone’s ever had. Which is why I’m so attention-hungry. Mom, this is all your fault.
To sum it all up, I think I need to apologize to the rest of you. I’m sure your moms are great or whatever, but I’m sorry that you all missed out on having the best mother ever.