23. What does your Mom do?
Well, what a question I randomly selected! My initial thought went to her job as a middle school teacher for the adolescent heathens of south Florida, a job she handles with such smart aplomb that putting my respect and admiration into words is nearly impossible. But in all honesty, that is her job and what my Mom actually does, what she is, remains a different thing entirely.
In no particular order...
My mom does this fantastic thing where she cracks herself up. I mean a side-splitting, roll over, fall on the floor laughter fit. Most of the time it takes everyone else a few minutes to catch up and the joke is (usually) worth it. Regardless, we all end up on the floor laughing.
My mom loves to recycle. She is a big crusader for planet Earth when it comes to plastics, glassware, and newspapers. She was so outraged by the lack of recycling at her school that she saved up about 250 water bottles and brought them home. And yes, she started crunching them one by one outside my bedroom window when I came home to visit, starting promptly at 8am on a Saturday, and sure it took hours and many a triumphant gleeful stomp after which she tossed them into the recycle bin, but the job got done. Deb doesn't do anything half-assed.
My mom makes the best meatloaf and macaroni salad, hands down. I can't duplicate it. No matter what I do. The same goes for chocolate chip cookies and a wide variety of homemade snack foods that have never seen a recipe page. Maybe she leaves out a secret ingredient, but let's be honest: it's probably love.
My mom gestures violently at idiot drivers. There's an escalating pattern to her rage, starting with a frustrated hand tap on the wheel. Then comes a raised hand and tongue tisk. Next we meet the infamous "double hand dance" where both wrists swivel about accompanied by a few choice words. I've never seen her get out of the car, but if both hands fly up, I know someone did something deservedly BAD.
My mom is gorgeous, naturally, and how she does it I don't know- more than saying her genes rock. Like most moms she hates picture taking and likes fussing in the kitchen and enjoys all that motherly behind the scenes work, but she should always be in pictures.
My mom can raise those Jersey roots in ten seconds flat. The balls of steel? The confident swagger? The sharp charm of a true champion? I've seen her raise a fight in a crowded Walmart over bad customer service and emerge victorious. Now THAT's something to claim with pride.
My mom roots for the Giants...and not just before they won this year's Superbowl (sorry, babe). She has always been their self-proclaimed biggest fan. Prior to game time , the lucky Giants socks come on, the shirt is worn, and she huddles in the living room "football chair." Then there's the inevitable chanting, cursing, hooting, hollering, and, in the event of a win, I do love the victory dance in front of the television which is an odd mix between the funky chicken and the electric slide. Most people learn to love football from their dad or a favorite uncle, but I learned to love it from my mom. And also to hate the Cowboys.
My mom buys in bulk. I think this comes from raising us in Florida where people have a "hurricane closet." My sister and I grew up dreading the day we might ever have to drink that condensed milk, but we were never left ill prepared when danger threatened. Batteries, canned vegetables, boxes of travel-sized cereal, juice packs, q-tips, shower goods, candles...my sister and I were the go-to girls for friends who liked playing store. If only I had better understood at that young age why I wasn't allowed to use Mom's checks to "pay" for sundries we all might have been spared a lot of frustration. I want her on my team during the apocalypse.
My mom has a soft spot which is really more of an all-encompassing black hole for shelter dogs. She spends her summers working tirelessly at Big Dog Ranch Rescue and does everything she can to get those dogs adopted by posting on Facebook and spreading the word to friends and strangers alike. Her passion would make anyone a believer, and if more people did the same we could put an end to kill shelters altogether. Check out the incredible BDRR here: http://www.bdrr.org
My mom has never shied away from awesomeness. She agreed to be one of the first cookie moms in my Brownie troupe, having no idea of what would become of our living room when the boxes arrived. She spent hours laboring over Halloween costumes when Kate and I were growing up; I didn't even know you could buy one from a store because the beautiful Disney princesses, the 60's Barbie, the Native American, the little elf I morphed into once a year all appeared from her own hands. She wrote notes with beautifully colored pictures on them for our lunches every day in elementary school and when I was too scared to go through the lunch line by myself on pizza day, she came to school and we had a date. She confronted my hellish seventh grade English teacher (who made Omarosa look like a saint) because I had a D in the subject when I always had an A (turns out this nightmare was purposefully failing kids). Mom never missed a play, conference, spelling bee, or ceremony (she'd be the one seated at the front clapping wildly) and the attention she paid to holidays would peak Martha Stewart's interest. And most of all she has always supported her children, no matter what, even if supporting them meant tough love for a better long term goal.
My Mom is a Mom, that is what she does; every minute of every day, loving unconditionally, and it will always be what I am proudest of her for.
No comments:
Post a Comment