And lo, since today is Mother’s Day, it only makes sense I will write about her again.
But, the thing is, I already said a lot of the stuff one might normally say on Mother’s Day already, AND I did it in the form of a list, which knocks out two of my default settings for writing about things.
Last year, I even wrote her a letter. So that’s been done, too.
Sheesh.
In fact, one of the most popular searches that leads to my blog is “reasons I love my mom”.
Well, that and “look at my boobs”.
Ahem.
You’d think there was some serious awesomeness going on there or something.
(With my mom, not my boobs.)
But I could write every day for the rest of my life about my mom, and I STILL wouldn’t quite manage to cover how great she is, or how special, or how amazing. Really. Truly.
I think that’s why people might get the impression that my mom and I have a pretty perfect relationship as moms and daughters go… and they wouldn’t be wrong.
Well, mostly.
We have our flaws, too, and we argue and clash and set one another off and push buttons like a couple of pros at times. But not all the time or even much of the time, which is why I count myself more than blessed to have the mom I do.
I don’t think I realized what a good deal I had in The Judy until I was older, and started to hear more about the fractured relationships my friends experienced with their parents.
Their stories were full of loss, chasm, distance, pain, conflict… and there I was, thinking my mom was kind of annoying because she was hassling me about going to the doctor, or wondering why I wasn’t going to church, or suggesting that maybe the guy I thought the sun rose and set on was a bit of a doofus (oh, was he EVER.)
But it didn’t take me long to realize there are far, far worse things than having a mom who cares enough to get all up in your business.
And I may not always act like I know that, but I do.
I do.
So, to you, Mom, the happiest of happies today. I love you so much.
Only one more person on this planet (besides the three of us who already do) is ever going to get to call you Mom, and that will be the man I marry.
I’m pretty sure he’ll be thankful for you, too, since the woman he’ll be getting will be the product of your diligence and love (and one or two lectures along the way.) That, and you will love him like one of your own, since that’s how you roll.
Your heart always has more room.
Which explains the legions of people who WISH you were their mom… but we’re only sharing you four ways. So there!
Well, plus grandkids.
Actually, I’m pretty sure when the grandkids show up, you’ll be all, “Children? I have children?” while rolling around on the floor with the tiny people we manage to come up with.
I hope you don’t mind… it’s just how I tend to figure things out.
I mean, I guess I didn’t always know what I was talking about (and I still don’t), so I likely scuffed up your reputation now and again.
But I meant well. And mean well.
Thing is, I think you’re amazing. At the same time as I think you are confusing and elusive and complicated and problematic and incomprehensible and irresistible and irreplaceable and insane, I find that there’s nothing in the world I want more.
That’s sappy. I know.
But the feeling of finding you, of keeping you… even of losing you… is so hardwired into the function of my heart that the coming and going is like breathing.
I have fallen in love with so many things.
So many people. So many plans. So many hopes. And there’s always something I can reach for, no matter how many times you have slipped from my grasp.
Am I too optimistic? I don’t know. You’ve broken me more than once, so to take you on lightly seems like flying a kite into a hurricane.
But even when you hurt me, I don’t want to stop trying. I mean, I do. But I can’t.
Even when I’ve forgotten how you feel, I know my sense memory will recognize you again in a second.
Even when I am lacking trust and lacking faith and lacking the confidence in myself to give and receive you, I know you will remain until I figure it all out. And then some.
Even when you go, I know you’ll come back another way. No matter how long it takes.
Thank you for being my constant, even when you weren’t.
Thank you for being my test, even when I failed.
Thank you for being my challenge, even when I could not meet you.
Thank you for being my comfort, even when it was you I needed comfort from.
Thank you for being my future, even when I could barely make you out in the distance.
I will mess you up again.
But I believe, no matter what, that you are the truest map of my dreams and my days.
Whether I have the will to see that or not in the moment.
1. The smell of fresh bread in the oven.
2. The opening notes of “Let’s Stay Together”.
3. A branchful of tiny birds in our Bird Tree.
4. The spray of oils from an orange rind when you peel it away.
5. The sight of a zillion bouquets of flowers, waiting to be bought.
6. Baby smiles.
7. The perfect smartass comeback.
8. Seeing a friend twirl once she’s found the right dress after trying on 300 that made her feel less than pretty.
9. My parents on my cell phone, carrying on a conversation with one another and not me when they call me.
10. Our coffeemaker beeping to tell us the coffee is done.
11. The cheer after the minister announces the bride and groom.
12. Sunshine on our deck.
13. The first french fry.
14. Waking up and discovering I can sleep for three or more hours still.
15. Hearing the printer churn out a finished draft.
16. The burn of my burn-y lip gloss.
17. Stepping into the shower.
18. The smell of fresh soil and grass and rain on a Vancouver spring morning. Especially if the rain has STOPPED. Heh.
19. Pulling the outside off a roasted marshmallow.
20. People with the “crazy laugh”.
21. Scalp rubs.
22. Singing in the car. Loud.
23. The feel of beach sand between my toes.
24. “I love you.”
25. “I love you, too.”
She would have no problem with me telling you that, too, since people regularly marvel at her age because she looks so young. “You couldn’t possibly have a 37 year old son! And a daughter who looks 22 but is actually 34!”
Okay, so they don’t really say that. The first part, yes. The second part is me lying to myself, as I am wont to do.
But she’s beautiful, and talented, and funny, and the kind of person people depend on when they can’t depend on anyone else.
She’s everyone’s friend.
Everyone’s mom.
Everyone’s sister.
Everyone’s wife. No, I’m kidding.
I always know my mom will be there for me if I need something, because that’s just the kind of person she is. We might not always see eye to eye, but I love that, too… it means we’re both passionate and strong and secure enough in our relationship to be honest.
I know I’m blessed, to say the least.
And that’s why today’s Love List is for my mom!
It will come in two parts: Things My Mom Loves and Things I Love About My Mom.
And while I know you can’t really chime in with things you love about my mom unless you know her (and feel free, if you do!), but you can say Happy Birthday and rock a love list of your own anywhere you like.
Remember… Fridays are for lovin’.
Things My Mom Loves
My dad
Sean and Carey
Meg
Everyone else
Kids
Dinner parties with people she loves
Decorating and design — and she’s genius at it
Wearing black
Chinese food. Actually, Chinese anything.
Making people look beautiful with her sewing/seamstressing/design gifts
The world’s most irritating cat
Beverages with an unnatural amount of ice
Vanilla Noel lotion
British sitcoms
White towels
Swimming
Mystery novels
Traveling, which she doesn’t get to do often enough
Yellow roses
The raspberry iced tea-lemonade combo
Painting, drawing, sketching. Also genius.
Knitting to stay awake during DVDs
Her watch and bracelet and earrings. Never leaves home without wearing all three.
Cannon Beach, OR
Lecturing her daughter HAHAHAHA
Giant purses that look more like suitcases
Google Image Search
Her knee wedge pillow
Water. She always says (in restaurants when waiters asked her what she wanted to drink), “Oh, water’s fine…” and then takes a sip of hers. Every. Single. Time.
Kooky, strappy heels
A well-made bed
Blistex, which cures everything, apparently
HGTV
Restoring pieces she finds at Goodwill — lamps, “objets”, whatever catches her eye
Motown
Flip flops (you wonder where I got it from? both my parents wear them — though my dad only on the beach or in downtime)
MY BLOG!
and….
Things I Love About My Mom
Her big, amazing heart
Her way with a room — she is the butterfly, the soul, the includer
How she cries at like, EVERYTHING meaningful
Her ability to see what people need, and provide it for them without making them ask or feel silly
Her faith
Her sense of adventure and mischief
That I can still shock her by swearing, but not really
Her nurturing ways. I don’t like having people around when I’m sick, but no one gets it right like my mama.
Her love for my dad
How she shouts on cell phones until my dad (who is in the car with her) and I (on the other end) tell her SHHHHH
Her love of Google Image Search
When she scratches my feet for me
Watching her with babies and kids
Her eye for the right way to set up a room
Her encyclopedic brain
Her GIANT OWL SUNGLASSES
Her inability to clap and sing at the same time
That she holds my hand when we sing hymns when I visit my dad’s church
Her laugh… especially when she’s going so hard she’s crying
Her giant eyes
Her grace
Her sarcasm — yeeeowch!
Her cooking — mmm!
Her ability to tell a story and cry or laugh as she goes on because she’s so in the moment
Her generosity
Her strength of conviction and character, even when we butt heads
That I know her well enough to make a list of things she loves, and to make a list of things I love about her.
Sure, the cough and the Kathleen Turner-esque tone of voice remain (oh, who am I kidding? I still sound like a squirrel who swallowed a cactus), but the color is back in my face and I can honestly say I don’t wake up in the morning wishing someone would bundle me in a blanket, deposit me gently on the couch (SOFA), and bring me clear fluids.
Then again…
NEVER MIND! IT’S TIME FOR A LOVE LIST!
Today’s love list is going to be dedicated to counting the blessings in my life, since I have spent the last two months typing out some variation on MEH or FEH BLEH or MENEH here at my wee blog. It’s time to move on and push forward and look around and twinkle at things as best I can.
As always feel free to share your own love list in my comments or at your blog. Actually, you can do whatever you want at your blog because it’s YOUR FREAKIN’ BLOG.
THINGS I LOVE AND AM BLESSED BY
My parents, who show up randomly after I’m done work to take me places I need/want to go
New leaves on the trees
Words
Music that makes me feel more alive
New friends that make me laugh
Old friends that make me laugh
Sunshine!
Faith
Getting well
Being able to smell things again
Antibiotics
American boys
Learning to stop running myself down
A place to share what I feel about things, and what’s going on in my life
Clean water, which becomes REALLY special sometimes
Days where my pants don’t get soaked on the way to work
My roommate, Catherine, who shows me unconditional love and likes to clean as much as I do
Access to good, healthy, fresh food, even when it costs approximately $1K per heirloom tomato (GO WHOLE FOODS GO)
Color and light
Accountability
Wisdom
Wit
Grace
Patience
Forgiveness
Being challenged to write better
Other peoples’ babies and children growing up in amazing and beautiful ways
Enough money to give to others when they need it… not something that was always possible
Living in a home that is safe, warm and comfortable — deck door open, fireplace on! Woohoo!
Knowing what you want
Knowing what you need
Knowing the difference between want and need
Watching my friends parent with such dedication
Big amazing possibilities that make you eeeeeeeeeee with joy
Love
Also, a dear friend of mine and their family are facing a really tough, scary situation right now, and could use a little help. If you have the perpetual couple bucks rattling around in your PayPal account, I’d love to share some support with them. If not, no worries, of course — I certainly don’t have a right to ask, and I can’t provide you with any more details than that.
I’m helping as best I can, too. And I’ve definitely appreciated your support here for the single moms’ camp, for breast cancer research, for other friends’ blog projects/charities they love, and for other friends in need. I love the idea of a few people giving a little to make a big difference.
Just click here.
And it’s not like anyone was waiting with TRULY bated breath, but I do feel badly that I’ve:
a) concerned people who EXPECT ME TO KEEP MY PROMISES, DAMMIT
b) missed commemorating a major moment in my life in a timely fashion
c) left anyone with the impression that I went on some supernova bender
d) caused my Dad to hit refresh endlessly for two days without any payoff
I DID turn 34 successfully. Seriously. It happened. Go me!
And no, no true wildness, though we did cheer for a truckful of firemen and I did have to fend off a drunken man who was far too interested in my… well… parts.
It was a chill day overall, complete with the gift of a dozen roses from someone entirely amazing, a Hydradermie Facial from my lovely friend Catherine, and a great dinner out with Cat and Ash. I really wanted to keep everything small this year, and Cat gave me my wish, although she did ask up to the afternoon before if I was regretting that we weren’t doing a party.
Nope.
(The facial was amazing, by the way… they used buzzing machines and rollerballs and 6,237 different lotions and a gauzy masque and 18 towels and odd-smelling moisturizers and potentially a palm sander.
Seriously, though — one of the machines I HAD TO HOLD A GROUNDING ROD TO AVOID ELECTROCUTION. A GROUNDING ROD.
I don’t even know what that is, but I held it, lest my face get shocked off.)
Today I got to see my parents, who gifted me with candy from my favourite candy store in Cannon Beach, OR, SIX BUNCHES OF TULIPS, some other fun treats that made us all laugh, and a HANDBAG (white, good hardware, lots of pockets.
Because they understand me. And that I have things I need to carry about, none of which is a small dog or a Glock.
I should also note that, the day before, I got flowers and cake and happy cards from my lovely coworkers, and the unintentional gift of an hour-early departure due to bitumen fumes overtaking my floor.
Awesome!
Now it’s time to head to bed before another work week. I think I have to go to the doctor for yet another inflamed/injured/angry/unresolvedly bitter body part, and I am also getting my eyebrows ripped off.
Partly. By an expert.
Look for my more thoughtful take on 34 tomorrow, when I’ve given said parts a chance to rest up, and my brain can focus on meaningful ideas.
(more evidence I was never meant to be a pro photog…)
This post took a while to get to, huh?
I am playing the sick card, because my lungs are still awash with grossness like a leaky basement. Complete with a rusty tricycle lodged near my bronchioles.
BUT.
For those of you playing along at home, you’ve heard the tales of our arduous journey to the North, and our blissful, yet icy time in the Snow Chapel watching Sean and Carey get hitched.
After all that, we had a reception. Or they did. I just went to it. And spoke at it. And danced at it.
But before I say anything else, I have to tell you about the thing that happened at said reception that has never happened before.
My parents? They danced.
Dude.
Now, a lot of you may have immediately jumped to the conclusion that there’s some sort of sinister reason my parents don’t dance. Perhaps you’ve referenced the fact that my dad is a minister and tied this reality to the classically Baptist disdain for booty shaking.
In fact, many Baptists fear the booty shaking so deeply that the old adage “dancing leads to sex” is reversed… because it’s way worse to be caught doing the watusi in some den of iniquity than to get knocked up in the back of a Chev.
Okay, not really, but I love that paragraph.
My parents’ friends dance. My parents’ children dance. In fact, their parents dance. It’s not an issue for them. It’s just that my mom can’t even really clap and sing at the same time, and my dad (although a musician with a great sense of rhythm) doesn’t enjoy dancing at all.
However — regardless of her lack of skillz — at my brother’s wedding, my mom was going to have to do the “mother-son” dance. This filled her with great trepidation — not enough trepidation to refuse the honour, mind you, but some trepidation.
What’s amazing, though, is that this led to a group obsession with getting my father to dance, as well. It took his sister, my Auntie Gwen, to finally get him out there, and eventually he danced with like, four different people.
Including (excuse the blurry, it’s like trying to capture the Loch Ness Monster on film) my mom:
Wow.
Just saying.
You’d have to know them to know how major that is.
They didn’t even have dancing at their own wedding.
(No, Mom, I wasn’t actually comparing you to “Nessie”… just accentuating the rarity, you know?)
What this means to me REALLY, however, is that my dad can no longer in good conscience duck the “father-daughter” dance at MY wedding. YOU’RE SCREWED, BUDDY.
Anyway, back to the reception.
It was held in Elks’ Hall, which is the most Canadian place you could have your wedding reception besides, say, a hockey arena. It was gussied up with pretty paper lanterns and pretty people, and ended up a lovely spot to spend a few special hours.
The food was fabulous, the company was great, and the DJ was even pretty damn good.
Also?
There were pipers, courtesty of Carey, who knows my brother loves them more than most things in life (even Star Trek and his iPod and novels about soldiers):
Also?
There was this guy totally shaking it in a pink shirt:
I have no idea why I love that photo so much, but I was actually trying to take a picture of something else and he just danced right on into it. Brilliant.
Also?
I learned YET AGAIN never to speak after either of my parents in speaking publicly ANYWHERE because they will MAKE ME CRY and then my usual steely composure is shot before I even hit the microphone. This time, I have my mother to thank for being a trembly, emo mess giving a toast to her son right before I went to welcome Carey to the family.
However, I did still manage to welcome her with a Top Ten list that I wrote using the “Notes” function I got with my iPod Touch software upgrade.
(I think that’s the most embarrassing sentence I’ve ever written. Gah.)
Unfortunately, when I’d lose myself into teary trembletude for a second, the Auto Lock function on the Touch would activate, and I’d have to use my shaky hands to get back to my “Notes” screen.
(No, I was wrong. THAT is the most embarrassing sentence I’ve ever written.)
I won’t print the Top Ten list here, because that was just for Carey. Suffice it to say, I warned her about the kooky clan she was walking into sufficiently, while at the same time letting her know we’d love her pretty much forever.
Because we will.
The same way we love my brother, who is one of the most kind, open, funny, special men you could ever hope to meet. And also a closet dancer, since he chose this moment in time to do pretty much this same routine to this same song:
And he did it WELL.
We all laughed until we couldn’t breathe… and his bride was sufficiently charmed.
The rest of the reception was unbelievably fun — I’ve never seen more people up and dancing for that long at a wedding before, and I’VE BEEN TO A FRICKLOAD OF WEDDINGS. Sean and Carey’s friends REALLY know how to move, and all my (biological and time-earned) Aunts and Uncles have some notable twinkletoes as well.
Even I — though I knew no one, and was not a fan of my heels at that point — got out there and did what I do when good music is playing.
Eventually I was in (the shameful yet Nothern-approved combo of) my Uggs and my little black dress, because I wasn’t DONE WORKING IT even as my toes screamed I HATE YOU I HATE YOU! I’m the one in my family who LOVES to dance, after all.
It was really the ideal night. Everyone said so, and keeps saying so. Which is everything you could hope for from your wedding reception.
But here’s the important thing in all of this:
My brother is happy.
And that’s what matters to me.
So, to him:
You and I don’t always agree on everything, and that’s fine, even when we aim to step on the other’s last nerve and push buttons that are thirty years old or more. We spend enough time making one another laugh to make up for all of that.
We are also the best kids anyone ever took on road trips, the best-behaved PKs in any pew in any church anywhere, and the single silliest pair of siblings anyone ever sat down to Sunday dinner with. All in all, a good brother-sister act.
You remain a consistent blessing in my life that no one else could have been, or ever will be. My only brother. My protector. My friend.
It was always my hope that you would meet someone who understood you and valued you and loved you for exactly the man you are, and you found that in Carey. She’s lovely and unique and amazing and everything a man could hope to find in a wife.
I’m really proud of your choice, and her choice.
Most of all, it does my soul whole worlds of good to see what I saw in your eyes that weekend… that sense of peace and hope and joy that comes with following your heart.
I mean, I don’t put the top of the bottle to my nose and inhale, but there’s something about the fragrance of a recently bleached surface that just says CLEAN. Oh, and GERM-FREE. Oh, and did I mention CLEAN?
I couldn’t sleep in this morning (the cough lingers, and maybe I am getting old?) so I hopped out of bed and started washing and polishing my house to a lovely OCD shine. And bleach got involved. And it was good.
But.
I didn’t get a chance to do my Friday Love List, so I figured I would do a Saturday Morning Love List in honor of bleach, the sunshine outside, the coffee perched on my lap, and everything else in life that is good and right.
Please feel free to share your own loves in comments or at your own sites. Spread the love!
THINGS I LOVE, RANDOMLY AND WITHOUT THEME
Bleach (you totally saw that one coming)
Bright mornings (ditto)
Coffee (now I’m just being annoying)
Farewells for dear friends who I can still see anytime I like
Hot wings
Our new vacuum
This song:
The blossoms coming out on our front tree
Kindness
This film:
Laughter that can’t be contained
Large eyes
Witty people who sparkle just a little
Jalepeno peppers
Edible-looking babies
A bit of redecorating
Being forgiven
Boys who drive standard
Looking at watches but never buying
Folding laundry
The promise of summer lurking in a high-sun sky
Iced tea, unsweetened
Everyone else’s sunglasses
Bare feet on green grass
Fresh bangs:
British real estate programs
Good intentions that give way to good actions
Interpretive dances by the photocopier
Antihistamines
Hugs
Plans
Lemon slices
Having the produce guy at Whole Foods compliment me on my choice of tomato
Imagining
Elvis Costello’s glasses. Also? Ira Glass’s glasses.
Old ladies laughing at Starbucks
You.
I’m like a broken record, really, or Girls Gone Wild! ads on late night television (with less skin and more sullen malevolence), or the lingual patterns of teenagers (”Rilly? No way. OMG. Rilly? No way. OMG. Rilly?”)
Lather, rinse, repeat.
Thing is, I’ve hacking like a 90 year-old smoker with a kitten trapped in their lung. This makes me feel… crabby.
Which I’ve also been before. And admitted to before.
I think I used to devote entire hours to being crabby from ages 13-17, most often when I thought my mother could be in my proximity, because a) she’d love me no matter what and b) MOMS ARE SO ANNOYING! GOSH!
(I CAN’T WAIT TO BE ANNOYING TO CHILDREN!!! INSTEAD OF JUST THE OPPOSITE SEX!!! AND PEOPLE WHO HATE OVERPUNCTUATION!!!)
But none of that really matters, does it?
“Just do the damn list, Meg… your backstory is so emo we bought it a striped shirt and eyeliner.”
Well.
Okay then.
THINGS I LOVE RIGHT NOW
Orange juice from Happy Planet
Oat bars
Numi tea
Crisp white shirts
My doctor, if he gives me the GOOD cough stuff
The way penguins walk
Weekends, thank heavens
Dreaming of California
Illy coffee
The hottest hot sauce that clears up your nose
Fake fencing swords
My new sister-in-law, Carey xoxox
Having a sister! What the frick?!? That’s awesome!
Wide open windows
New lipgloss
Possibilities
Boys in glasses
Showing my mom how to use YouTube to watch Christopher Walken dance
Honey and lemon in hot water
The fact that it snowed today, but there is no evidence remaining of the same
Funny voice mails that make my day
Being stuck with my dad while traveling… he makes me laugh
Coconut lotion
Genoa salami
Fresh cherries
Watching my parents dance at my brother’s wedding FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER
People who are comfy in their skin
Strappy shoes with a tan
People who know how to be witty and warm at the same time
Wooden bracelets
Lemon-Mint Ricolas
That the area under my nose is no longer a sinus-inflicted red, flaky Hitleresque painstache
Debates that keep my mind from closing in on itself
My roommate, who is home from California
Eric, our lovely friend she left behind
All the sassy surfer girl bangles and earrings she brought me home (I love big earrings)
My fireplace
Bounce sheets
Lip balm that smells orangey or vanilla-y
Edible babies
As usual, feel free to leave your own love list in the comments, or put one up at your blog. Love makes things better, I swear, even if it’s just for a few minutes until the next bomb drops.
