I Got It From My Momma

Between the time of moving to Helena and closing my bakery, I had a job in an office; it was there that I was surrounded by a group of fun women that kept me laughing at all times and a few of them were mothers. We would drink our morning coffee while talking about the funny or frustrating things their children did the night before, and every once and while I would hear the phone calls that always made me think of my own mother. It was the phone call they would receive, at work, from their child about a sibling that was driving them crazy, with the expectation of their mom handling the problem over the phone. It was the phone call from the school to let them know their child wasn’t feeling well and needed to get picked up. It was also the phone calls, stating that school was canceled the next day because of snow, or because someone forgot their science project at home, or their lunch, or their backpack, or maybe they missed the bus. These phone calls always stood out to me, because they were the phone calls I would make to my mother when I was younger. My beautiful, wonderful mother worked (and still does) throughout my entire childhood, a thought I never once considered whenever I called her from the nurses office because I had a stomach ache. She was busy answering phones, handling clients, and typing day after day, while I was calling because it was the summer and my younger brother was driving me crazy, and “Mom, why do I even have to watch him?” (This was *before* Niko and I started to get along) She was dealing with the daily frustrations any job could possess, while I was calling because “I have a headache” which really meant, I had a test coming up that I hadn’t studied for. Thirty years. Thirty years and I never once considered what that must have been like for my mom, trying to keep her voice down at work while I was complaining about something unimportant on the other end; that is, until I worked with these women. I think the reason why I never realized what it might have been like for her was because she never complained, of course I occasionally heard the “Christine, I am at work right now,” in a tense voice, which internally always prompted a “So?” on my end; but she never complained, she never once said I couldn’t call her. Instead, she always told my brother and I, that if we ever needed her, we should never hesitate. However, something tells me, she didn’t mean phone calls at work complaining that we didn’t have any oreo’s left in the pantry, but no kid is perfect!

Over the past few years, and especially this last one, I have found myself thinking back to my school years and how much my mother did for us. My parents had my brother and I both in karate, soccer, gymnastics, dance, and volleyball; not to mention, my brother also did baseball and basketball. They kept us incredibly busy, we would have practices after school, and games, competitions, or recitals on the weekends, and every single one of these activities required a uniform and equipment. I say all of this because that amazing mom I mentioned, always made sure we had the right uniform, the correct equipment, and that we were on time for every practice, every game, and every competition. We would spend our Saturdays during soccer season running from field to field, changing our uniforms in the back of our minivan, while grabbing quick lunches in between each game. These busy days that would start with us running to the minivan in the morning, breakfast in hand, wouldn’t end till much later in the day when we were exhausted, walking back into our house yelling, “Mom, what’s for dinner?” As if she hadn’t been out with us all day.

Maybe I’m remembering it differently, time can have that effect on us, but she did it all. Our school uniforms were always ironed, something she did while we all laid on the couch on Sunday afternoon watching movies, and she would stand there with a basket of clothes ironing one piece after another, and I unfortunately can honestly say, I never once got up to help her. Our uniforms were tidy, our projects were always turned in on time, and there was always something from our house for the bake sales at school. She spent hours, year after year making our Halloween costumes by hand, not the mention the never ending dance recital costumes I had to wear, that always needed altering. I never considered how exhausted she must have been, working eight hours a day, Monday through Friday, to then come home, cook dinner, do laundry, help us with whatever homework we hadn’t done in our after school program, to then get our things ready for the next day.

I know there are mothers and fathers that do this every day all throughout our world without any acknowledgement from their children, and for that I say, I’m sorry. My only hope for you, is that your child will one day realize, what I, and I know my brother have realized, which is how truly lucky we all are.

Since moving to Montana I find myself talking to my mom more than I ever thought possible, she’s usually the first person I call in the morning, and definitely the first person I call when something is wrong (some things never change from those old school days, I guess). Experiences out here have shown me even more just how truly special she is, leaving me to say almost weekly, “I’m so happy you’re my mother,” usually followed by a chuckle because she always knows exactly what I mean. From the moment I was born she has been my cheerleader, telling me that I can dream as big as I want and chase after every goal I have set for myself. Were there days in high school where I thought she didn’t understand me? Of course! Are there still days, when I find myself yelling, “Mom!” in frustration? Absolutely, we’re only human; but if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that she will always do whatever it takes to see me happy, even if that means putting on a brave face when I say, “I think I’m gonna move to Montana.”

I am 31 years old and I can honestly say there is nothing quite like a hug from my mom, it’s exactly what I want when I’m happy, and the one thing I need when I’m sad. She’s silly and funny, especially when she’s trying not to be, she usually says the first thing that pops into her mind, which I then always find myself laughing and responding with, “Mom, you CANNOT say that!” which she always laughs and says, “What?” Like it’s never occurred to her to ever be anything but completely herself with me. She has a fun and loving relationship with my father who still makes her laugh, especially when his jokes are NOT funny (sorry pops), and three children who adore her and her borderline obsession with making sure we have everything we need. For example, if you casually mention that you ran out of face wipes? Rosie will amazon that to your door before you hang up the phone. If you complain that you have a ton of laundry to do and no quarters to put in the machine? She will pick you up, bring you to her house where you can eat till your heart’s content, watch movies, all while you use her laundry machine and then get sent home with leftovers.

If there is one thing my mother knows how to do, it’s love. I once read a line in a book that said, “You learn what people need and then you give it to them,” and that is what she does. She gives and gives, and rarely complains, because in her words, “They’re my kids, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them.”

She has spent so much of her life, dedicated to making sure her family has everything they need, that a part of me is happy Niko and I are finally out of the house, giving her time to do things for herself. Don’t get me wrong, like I said earlier, she still finds ways to step in and give us whatever she believes we need at that moment, but I can’t help but feel like it’s finally her time. Her time to go on fun dates with my dad, her time to take care of herself, and finally, her time to be appreciated for the wonderful woman she has always been.