She’s taught me so much in my life.
She taught me:
It’s okay to cry during movies.
Even if you think the dog is really obnoxious while it’s living with you, you still might sob uncontrollably when it has to be put down.
That I should wear makeup sometimes (but I still don’t).
That naproxen sodium and heating pads can ease the pain of being female.
That french fries and grilled cheese can ease the pain of heartache.
Magic tricks with your fingers are legitimate forms of entertainment on road trips.
It’s a good thing to have candy in the house at all times–sometimes that means hiding it in your room or random drawers so it doesn’t get eaten immediately.
Dance parties should happen often in the kitchen.
How to be creative. I can’t tell you how many wood things I’ve painted with her.
She taught me it’s okay to be me. We had a lot of conversations that went like this, “Are you sure you want to wear all those colors together–okay, if anyone can pull it off it’s you.”
“Are you sure you want to study film? Okay, I can see that you’re working really hard.”
She taught me to love holidays.
She sends me something every Valentine’s Day.
She made an Easter dress faithfully every year I lived at home.
She throws great birthday parties.
We have one of the best decorated houses and tallest Christmas trees from the day after Thanksgiving to New Year’s.
When I was in Italy on my mission I didn’t get back until January 29th and my mom left up the Christmas decorations–even though the tree was all dried out–so I wouldn’t miss it.
She taught me how to have fun. You’d never guess it was the nurse who pulled the most pranks at Girls’ Camp.
She was there when I needed someone to hold me and let me cry and she’s just about the only person I’ve really cried in front of (until that season finale of Mindy Project but that’s another story).
She taught me that the mean things people say don’t matter. She always had my back.
She taught me how to love and that there’s always time to serve and help others.
She taught me, “Anyone who can read can cook.” But she also has her limits.
“Mom, how do you cook Kale?” “How do I cook Kale? I buy it, put it in the fridge, and then let it sit there until it gets gross, then I throw it away. That’s how I cook Kale.”
She taught me how to have a good sense of humor–which is the greatest gift I could ask for.
“We like to be funny and that’s good.”
“You have to be kind of edgy, that’s the business you’re going into…but I’m not going to read your Twitter because I don’t want to know.”
“Someone said I exaggerated the story I was telling and I said, ‘That’s how you tell a good story.’ Right?”
She’s still my favorite person to tell stories too.
“Tell me a story from your life. Downton Abbey has ended and I need more drama in my life.”
She’s a great mom and a great Grammer to my nieces and she can rock an ugly Christmas sweater.
I love the way you write. I love how thoughtful this is/you are. I love that photo of you and your mom. Now I love your mom.
Pingback: Motherhood for the Non-Mothers – The Serial Lover