For Mom

Yesterday I opened the door to see a funny little lady, long, black, curly hair escaping rebelliously from under her too-small baseball cap, sheet of paper with no clipboard in one hand and a pitcher full of flowers in the other. "Are you Patritha?" she lisped. I barely avoided lisping back a "Yeth," and instead opted for "I am." "Well, thethe are for you!" she exclaimed, and handed me the flowers and the clipboard-less paper, which was full of names and addresses. My name was there but the address line was blank. I asked her if she needed my address, she told me "Jutht thign right there." Now I don't know if you've mastered the Jedi-like skill of doing anything and everything while holding a baby, but signing a clipboard-less paper with one hand seems an impossible task. I somehow managed to use my baby-holding hand as a hard surface and scribbled something totally illegible.

The flowers are gorgeous. The card was, as I expected, from my Mom. My first Mother's Day flowers! My first thought was "Oh crap. I haven't ordered anything for my mom yet," which was followed quickly by "Man, my mom is so awesome!"

And she really is.

My mom has made so many sacrifices for us. When we were itty bitty, she stayed home with us and cloth-diapered, cooked everything from scratch (including spaghetti noodles!), learned from the neighbors how to make tortillas and sopapillas, only let us watch Sesame Street, and taught us to love and respect everyone and everything, especially our books. After she and Dad divorced, she started attending night school to become a nurse. She worked the 7p to 7a shift at hospitals for years so we could have clothes and food and a home. 

Growing up, I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. When I was in middle school, she came to school once to drop off a book or something, and all my friends thought she was my sister. I have very few memories of her ever losing her patience with us, and the one time I remember her spanking me, she was so gentle that it didn't even hurt. Despite the divorce and the circumstances surrounding it, she never spoke one negative word about my Dad in front of us. It wasn't until I was 21 and rather angry with her about getting divorced that she told me why. That had to be so hard for her, especially because we kind of idolized our absent parent. She defended us whenever we suffered any genuine injustice, but somehow she knew when we were (or rather when I was ... I don't think my sister ever told a fib in her life) exaggerating and wouldn't put up with my storytelling.

My mom has been through so much emotional turmoil in her life, and has made a lot of mistakes (who hasn't?). But she is my hero, my best friend, my advocate, and my mentor.

I love you, Mom. Happy Mother's Day.