She Was There

She was there to tuck me in at night, reading me a story over and over.

She was there to pluck me out of the closet when I was having nightmares.

She was there to put bread bags over my tennis shoes, when Atlanta got a rare snowstorm.

She was there to make my lunches, while I ate breakfast before school.

She was there to dye the macaroni green on St. Patrick's Day, just for giggles.

She was there to drive us to Six Flags over and over one summer, so we girls could hang out all day.

She was there to take us to the mall on Saturday, to put up with our wanting and wishing.

She was there to teach us how to walk with confidence, even with a shopping cart.

She was there to coach basketball, or softball, or tennis, whatever we were playing that season.

She was there to help me pick out just the right outfit, so that she could take our photo on the first day of school.

She was there to make sure we were doing our homework, propped on our bed with a lapdesk firmly in place.

She was there to decorate my room, resplendent in Pepto-Bismol pink, because that was how I wanted it.

She was there to repair the hole in the wall after I'd slammed the door open one too many times.

She was there to let me put posters and clippings from Teen Beat and Tiger Beat and Seventeen magazine on my walls.

She was there to tell me that one day, I would grow into my height, if you know what I mean.

She was there to teach me right from wrong, but give me enough room to figure it out myself.

She was there to listen while I cried from a heartbreak, without saying that it was just puppy love.

She was there to teach me how to drive, reminding me to look in the mirrors at more than my lip gloss.

She was there to answer my questions about sex and love, even when it made her blush ever so slightly.

She was there to laugh at my jokes and put up with my stories, despite the fact that I'd lost track of the point.

She was there to witness my graduations, ceremonies and awards shows, to tell me she was proud.

She was there to cheer from the sidelines, and drive me home from the far away basketball games on Friday nights.

She was there to cry with me over romantic comedies, and Christmas commercials, in the dark of the living room.

She was there to drive me to college, setting up my dorm room and leaving me to grow up on my own.

She was there to give me the space freshman year, because she'd read a book that advised parents to do that.

She was there to support me, to teach me, to let me make my mistakes as I should.

She was there to move me into my first apartment, and my second, and my third, and my fourth...without looking back.

She was there to say goodbye, as I left my hometown for a bigger, brighter future in a new city.

She was there to listen while I sobbed after getting laid off, being dumped, or just plain hurting.

She was there to spackle, paint, refinish, tile, reorganize, decorate my new condo, even when nothing seemed right.

She was there to calm my nerves, ease my worries, comfort my doubts, just when I needed her.

She was there to remind me that being smart was more important than being pretty, that being confident was more valuable than being right.

She was there to urge me to be myself, to love me no matter what and to always answer the phone when I call.

She was there.

And, today is her birthday, and I have nothing, not enough money, not enough time, to tell her properly how much she has meant to me.

Because, like mothers should be, she has always been there.

Our relationship has ebbed, flowed and changed, and I am so thankful that we've arrived at this new place. Where we're friends, equals, partners, peers, and family.

Today, on her birthday, I celebrate my Mom. I know that I inherited a lot from her—on the outside, yes, but more importantly, on the inside where it really counts.

I love you, Mom. On your birthday, and always.

Thank you for being there.

Wouldn't Fit on the Card

Mom teaching me things even then. Christmas morning circa 1978.
In honor of Mother's Day, I'd like to honor mine. I'm one of those women you envy. One who has a fantastically fun mother with whom she can share stories, clothes, laughs and a bottle of wine. Or two.

As I age, I catch myself more and more saying things that we used to tease her for, or waving my hands the way she does, or crinkling my nose to stop the impending tears during a sappy movie, or raising my voice into a ridiculously high pitch to squeal excitedly about something fabulous.

I'm becoming her.

And I couldn't be more thrilled.

For her pleasure, on her day, here are a few highlights from my life with my Mom. Heads up, Mom—go grab a Kleenex. I'm just saying. I know you.

• The woman is THE PERSON you want while renovating or doing any number of house projects. There is just nothing she can't figure out, dream up, paint over or make happen. My condo is proof of her magic ability to take an ugly, empty, pink stove and fake-wood-metal-cabinets kitchen look amazing. And, the woman looks hot wearing an apron from Home Depot covered in paint. I promise.


• My Mom took great pleasure in making childhood memories and holidays special for me and my sister. Every year for St. Patrick's Day she would dig deep into her Irish-ness and dye all of our dinner foods bright green, distribute green paper leprechaun ears and toast her heritage with green glasses of milk. Our personal favorite was macaroni, and we were convinced it tasted different when it was green.


• As a woman who grew up in a household of 10 kids, my Mom is resourceful and industrious. She used to not only wow us with her pumpkin carving skills, but she handmade every Halloween costume we wanted, and they were WAY BETTER than the ones at the store. Lauren somehow got the shaft one year when she had to go as a book character, as Laura Ingles Wilder isn't all that cool, especially when your sister gets to be a punk rocker with pink hair. Sorry, Laur.


• In keeping with the above holiday theme, every Easter, while we girls were at church, she ensured that my Dad would be placing the plastic eggs all over our yard. We loved getting our new dresses, and giggled with Mom when Dad inevitably chopped up one lone purple egg with his riding lawn mower the following weekend.


• Ever the crafty one, my Mom is the queen of homemade birthday cards, and I gotta tell you, most of the time the message inside is funnier and more meaningful that the ones from Hallmark. When you care enough to send the very best, you go to Eileen's house and use her printer.


• I'll never forget the look on her face when she handed me the bouquet of bright red roses on the day of my college graduation. It was a combination of pride in what had been gained, sadness for what was lost, anticipation for what was to come, and reflection on where we'd been. I was proud to be the cause for that look, and will be continuing to make her proud as long as I can.


• My Dad gets credit for this one, too, but I have to apologize now for the "bleacher butt" they both suffered for years. Those gyms all look the same, smell the same, and have the same ridiculously hard wooden bleachers, and they sat there, yelling out my name, for years and years, during every season there was. The Norcross High School Blue Devils sweatshirt, however, has seen better days, and we're glad that it is now relegated to the back of the closet.


• It is only now, as an adult with a car and a huge city in which to run errands, that I fully appreciate the efforts of the driver. Captaining a mini-van full of kids, driving us all over the state, could NOT have been how she wanted to spend her weekends, but she did. With no complaints, and great oldies tunes. To which she always said, "I was in 7th grade when this came out!" or "I danced with Charlie Jacoby to this one in 1970!" We loved thinking of our Mom that young and free.


• Able to control her own work schedule, my Mom was great about dragging us girls on cool spring break vacations to Destin, Florida, where we were allowed to bring a friend. Now THAT made us feel grown up. As a family, we have fond memories, and silly photos from, Disney World, Grant's Farm, Busch Gardens, Six Flags, Hilton Head and Gulf Shores. The bathing suits were terribly cool at the time, but looking back, man were the styles funny. Mom, you were one hot mama!


• With a birthday that is just 3 days after Christmas, my Mom always made sure that I still felt special. She always used purple birthday wrapping paper (or some other non-holiday shade) and kept them a secret until the big day. We got to use the big, red, round plate that said, "You are special today" while we ate whatever meal we'd requested. I felt special then, and still do, thanks to her thoughtfulness.


• I think she was crazy to do it, but she let me have a HUGE birthday sleepover in 5th grade, and invited 12 or so girls to the house. Pretty sure they didn't sleep that night, but that kind of sacrifice for our happiness was never forgotten. She even painted EVERY girl's fingernails. Crazy woman.


• As an adult, I have even better memories, ones that go deeper than sporting events, holidays or family vacations. Now, my Mom is my best friend, the woman I long to become and a huge supporter of my dreams. Even when I can't afford them, and she has to sneak me a loan.


• Driving up in a U-Haul to move me to Chicago, it was almost as if my Mom didn't have a totally ruined hand, and a full set of prescription painkillers, from an unfortunate run-in with a Hunter Douglas blind. Despite the wrecked hand, huge cast and undoubtedly, the pain, she put on a smile and rode in the center all the way from Atlanta to Chicago, laughing the loudest when the U-Haul broke down halfway across Indiana. She's strong and resilient like that.


• When my vacation plans fell apart a few years ago, she immediately volunteered to get away with me. We boarded flights for Miami, and jetted off on to our cruise ship to the Caribbean. Just us girls. We dressed up, ate too much, drank buckets of beer by the pool, played games of Scrabble where I trounced her repeatedly, and we laughed and laughed and laughed. Only part of that laughter was AT her for trying to beat me at a word game.

As mothers do, mine has always been supportive of my dreams, even when I've lost hope. She has been there for me as I battled through a difficult job situation, and cheered the loudest when I moved on to better things. She's consistent with her encouragement during the MANY heartaches I've experienced, and is the best friend I could ask for. She asks the tough questions, the ones that I'm avoiding with full force, and when the answer comes out, and she softens the blow, I often have to just concede that she's right. She knew when I moved to Chicago that it wasn't likely that it would be "just for two years," and yet she is still convinced it was the right thing to do.

Distance is only on the roads, love reaches across the miles, and Mom, your opinion is still the most important to me. I hope I'm making you proud.

Before we got sauced at a Wine Fest in St. Louis in '05.
I love and miss you every day. I hope to become half the woman you are, and every bit the mother.

Happy YOU Day!