Many mothers have impacted her life

Mother’s Day is coming up Sunday. That is my go-ahead to relocate the houseplants to their summer homes. With the wild weather we have been having they might not appreciate the fresh air as much as they usually do.
It is also the time of year to remember all the mothers I have had in my life. I miss my mother-in-law; actually I miss both of them. The first one taught my daughter to cook and to love vegetables such as okra. She was also the one whose standards I could never live up to. A note to husbands: telling your wife that, “Mom could work all day, keep a spotless house and prepare gourmet dinners, why can’t you?” is not a way to endear yourself to her. My second mother-in-law raised her son to never vocalize such phrases.
That second one is the one I miss the most. I want to talk to her every time I have news, good or bad. She is the one I want to ask for advice. She is the one I miss shopping with. She is the one I think of whenever I see a shoe store. She had narrow feet and never missed a chance to hunt for a pair of shoes that fit.
I learned that she once went on a joy ride with a car she, ahem, appropriated, from her father’s car lot. She taught her granddaughters how to dance. She would line up all the little girls in a row and squirt whipped cream into their upturned mouths. And even though she was a great cook, the smoke alarm going off would sometimes signal that supper was ready.
There were other mothers in my life. There was Phila Smith, an older lady who took in foster children over the holidays. She taught me and a friend how to do pastel painting. It was she who first took me into a Catholic church; not to attend services, but to decorate for Christmas. I spent two holidays with her and in those few days she left an indelible impression on my heart. After more years than I care to count, I still remember her.
There were all the housemothers who provided care during the tumultuous growing up years. Some women were simply doing a job, some were trying to change the world and all were people trying to survive their own lives. Every one of them made a difference even though I don’t remember all their names or faces.
There were all the mothers who would give advice when my daughter was little. They were the ones who would coo at the baby in the frilly pink dress and say, “What a cute little boy.” They would tell me the baby was too hot or too cold. They would tell me how to handle a tantrum in the middle of the grocery store. They would give advice that I usually ignored.
Whenever women get together they talk about their children and husbands. They may talk of current events and the state of the world but the subject always comes back to family. Women are mothers first, whether they have given birth or not.
My own mother is a miracle. She was unwanted by her own mother, survived a horribly abusive childhood and has never once passed it on to her children. None of the three of us has ever been abused by her. Each of us knows without a doubt that we are wanted, loved and appreciated.
She has taught us by example how to live a life with grace. She accepts the infirmities of age and the indignities that go with being on public assistance. She doesn’t understand modern technology and loves soap operas, westerns and her children.
Even though gas prices are higher than they have any right to be, I will make the long drive to her house and spend the day with her on Mother’s Day. I will plant flowers for her (if I don’t leave them at home again). I will bake something for her even though she is convinced that whatever I cook makes her sick. We will go shopping if she is up to it.
I will give her the only gift she really wants. I will give her the gift of time.
To all the mothers in my life, I say thank you. You have made a difference.[[In-content Ad]]