Mama, I love you.

Since it's my mom's birthday I thought I'd write a little bit about her and my new found respect for her.

My mother has had an interesting journey of a life. She's had some ups, but probably more downs than anyone deserves. (I'm not going to go into too many personal details, this is my blog, not hers and I don't want to show any disrespect for her by sharing things she may not want others to know.)

My mom grew up in a time that I long for, the 1940's-60's. I love hearing her stories about stealing her sister's undergarments to make her skirts "more poofy," and smoking out the bedroom window with her best fried, also named Kathy. I daydream of being in her shoes when she was little and would go blueberry picking with my grandfather when her sisters and brother had "better" things to do. And as much as I dislike the Yankees, I wish I had been able to experience the baseball games of the 1950's with my grandfather at Yankee Stadium in New York as a kid, like something out of a nostalgic and heart warming movie.

But I've also been able to learn from many of the mistakes she made growing up. As a child I would listen to all of her stories, both good and bad and try to apply them to my life. I don't think I'll ever have the balls to drive a race car, but I have learned that consistency is key when raising children. My brothers didn't turn out to be the kind of adults my mom thought she was raising. She still seems to blame herself for this, even though all children grow up and live their lives the way they choose to, no matter their upbringing. Yet she still loves them more than anything! They say awful things to her that no child should ever say to their parent (especially as adults, children sometimes say things when they don't really understand the meaning) but she still prays for them and loves them with all of her heart.

Growing up listening to all of my mothers stories I always knew she should write a book. Some day I won't hear theses stories that I enjoy so much, and it will be very sad. So I'm making a vow tonight that I will help my mom to write her story. I think the most exciting part of this new adventure is that I get to go out and by a new pen and notebook! Or maybe even a tape recorder! Ooooo......

Anyway, back to my part in this story:
As I told my mom in her birthday card today, she gave me something that many adults didn't have, and thus causing them to require counseling of some sort, she gave me an amazing, magical, wonderful childhood! I have so many fantastic memories about growing up. I loved coloring in the kitchen while my mom talked on the phone in Guilford, VT when I was 4. I enjoyed helping her plant flowers along the edge of the house when I was 7. It was so nice to curl up in her bed on a chilly autumn evening and watch tv, drinking tea or hot cocoa as a teenager. I was always happy to go grocery shopping with her (even still today!).  I have so many spectacular memories of growing up (many to do with my dad, as well) that I'd so love to share with my son one day, I just don't think they will be nearly as exciting and adventurous as my mom's.

Since becoming a mom myself I have found a new respect for my mother. Having to go through labor and delivery SIX times! Raising five children on her own without the help of the government or her family (mostly because she was so far away when everything happened to cause her to become a single parent). If you have read my blog on PPD, you know I had a bit of a rough time after having Killian. I can't even begin to imagine what life was like for my mom at my age. And they didn't even have the internet back then! (I don't know where I'd be without the internet to keep me company on lonely nights.) I wish I could go into more details about my mom's life right now, but I just don't feel comfortable telling her stories without her permission and her own words. But I will, and when Killian gets a bit older I can at least tell him of the time that I wrote Nana's story.

(Funny how you sit down to write one thing, and end up writing something completely different.)