First of all…. Happy Birthday, Momma!!!
Sometimes when things are super boring in my life I have hard time blogging, but every once in a while something comes up and I can’t restrain myself. Like colonoscopies, getting knocked up- and then unknockedup, my sister graduating and my best friend getting pregnant. I’ve written about my mom before, but I really wanted to take some time to just give it up for the most kick ass mom in the world.
Recently there has been some weird things going on at home. And I have to be totally ambiguous because otherwise I would get in trouble and things would probably only get worse. But basically, we’ve all been tested. She’s had to deal with most of the bullshit personally, and honestly- she’s been incredible. For every time I would have gone fucking bananas on someones ass, she ignores it and keeps on going. Talk about inspiring. I guess that’s what mom’s are supposed to do. Set a good example.
She’s consistently set a good example for me. She is definitely the reason I’m not a stripper, or a loser, or divorced, or living in a van down by the river. She’s the reason I’ve made it work with my husband since I was 16. She has been married to my dad for… forever, and I’m not sure how she does it.
So, today she turns… ahem… 40? Right! Anyway, she’s aged beautifully. She instilled in us the ability to love ourselves. I think a lot of people who run around spewing hate probably never had a mom like mine (or like my mother in-law). She always made it very clear to us that beauty was only skin deep and no matter what was on the outside, it was the inside that counted. Maybe that’s why Hillary and I have such awesome personalities and people love us so much- we love ourselves!!
In her younger years she was a wild one. She did all of the things she wanted to do. She traveled, she worked hard supporting herself, she shaved her head, taught yoga and really enjoyed life. Then she married my dad and had us and we were a happy family. Living in the mountains, growing strawberries and swimming in the pool, keeping warm by the fire and co-sleeping until we were 10. Some people might think Hill and I were like raised on a hippie farm, where we breastfed until we were 2 and co-slept and ate vegetables from our garden, listened to Nancy Griffith and played in the dirt, but I’d like to correct that assumption. Although we may be part hippie, we are also part fancy fabulous. I can’t possibly calculate how many hours we have spent shopping together. Mostly in high school when all that shit really mattered, but even now, she has impeccable taste. That really only rubbed off on Hillary. Style is not my forte.
One of the best gifts my mom ever gave me was this weird generational intelligence. Like, her parents were so smart and she was given that gift, and then she gave me that gift. If that makes sense. This blog might not be the ideal indication of how smart I am, but seriously. I owe my insightful nature to this woman. I write like her, I talk like her, I’m pretty much a clone of her- minus the nose. That’s basically the only thing I didn’t inherit from her mom and dad. Which means that I got all the good things from her side of the family and the crappy things from my dad- which is basically just a bunch of acronyms and always super awkward to explain to people. Anyway, I’m grateful she gave me an awesome brain and huge boobs.
I think it’s fair to say that I take for granted a lot of things in my life, my mom being one of them. I’ve always, ALWAYS, been able to tell her things. I never felt judged by her or scared of her, she gave me freedom which made me become much more self-aware than plenty of people my age. While there was a learning curve (read: I was a 13 year old girl), I quickly became the type of person who never went too far. I owe that to my mom. She trusted me. I think I’ve said this before, at least a million times. She trusted me, I trusted myself. She loved me, I loved myself. She gave me confidence and ownership of my life. I made good choices, thanks to her. Her mom raised her the same way. I will raise my kids the same way.
When I found out I was pregnant, she was the first person I wanted to call (I couldn’t tell her though, because my dad was still in surgery and I didn’t think it was a good time to tell her). When I was having a miscarriage she was the first person to know, and the first and only person, who could really make me feel better. When I have a tough day, I call her. When I’m sad, I call her. When I was having debilitating anxiety attacks, I would run to her bed- just like I did when I was a kid, and she would snuggle me and I would instantly feel better. When I was younger, I used to fall asleep next to my mom with my head on her chest. I spent countless hours making sure her heart was still beating. Like, maybe that’s weird or something, but it just goes to show how much I love her.
The sound of her heartbeat, the smell of her clothes, her warm embrace, I can’t even explain how perfect she is. I feel the same way about my grandma, and I think I have that too. It might be some kind of maternal instinct, or maybe its because her body is so comfortable, squishy, in all the right ways. I definitely have that. It’s totally a mom thing and I can’t wait to snuggle the shit out of a baby. I can’t wait for that baby to get snuggled by my mom the ultimate grandma. That type of title has become associated with such negative connotations, because everyone just wants to stay young forever. But I consider it the ultimate compliment. Nurturing generation after generation of kids, making them feel safe and loved and in turn creating confident happy people. Nothing could possibly be better.
Mom’s have the hardest jobs in the world. They have the responsibility of creating OTHER PEOPLE. How wild is that? It still blows my mind… my mom literally created me from scratch. Much like her carrot cake, I am amazing, and I owe it all to her her ingredients and professional baking. So here’s to you momma- Happy Birthday! On this day a in… ahem… 19something or other… your mom was giving birth to you in France. She wrote home after she had you and told her mom her “birth story”. She was of the generation of “twilight sleep” and although she labored beautifully for hours, while your dad was in the waiting room- flat on her back with no one familiar near her- she was about to push you out and they gave her a shot of