MOG #6: Mom.

I knew this is how the MOG’s would start; a snowball effect. I would write one, then suddenly get the urge to write another. There will be times this year where I won’t post, or will haphazardly, or rely you guys to keep up the journey because I won’t be able to get it together. I know I need to seize this writing feeling, even though its 1 in the morning. I just put on a John Mayer album so Lord knows I’ll be here for a while. 

Tonight I felt like I was getting realigned. Seriously- as if the chiropractor of the universe was realigning my spine of stars into something different, maybe straighter. I was in the washroom getting ready for bed and I kept leaning from side to side, lunging back and forth to feel the vertigo. The best word I can think of is ‘titly’ as in, to be tilted, like when you get off a ride at Wonderland. Post Italian Job dizziness. It could be my body reacting to the antihistamine I took earlier. It could be my body telling me I need to not spend all day on my laptop, iPhone or tablet. But the spine thing sounds much better.

Like the four year old child I am, I crept into my mom’s room asking to sleep in their bed. My dad is on the couch because mom has a headache, and she sleepily replied “yeah sure” and quickly fell back asleep. Laying in her bed, I started to think of how grateful I am to have mom in my life.

My mother is not like a regular mother. She did not show me how to put on mascara. She was never the mom to make me tell her all my secrets. Not once did we have a screaming match at each other over a boy or the phone or my outfit. We skipped the fighting phase like we skipped the mother daughter pottery phase. My Saturday mornings were spent grocery shopping, maybe a trip to the mall; my Saturday nights were spent at church. Everything in between was helping get dinner ready, crying through math homework and laughing about what happened on Gilmore Girls.

My mother gave me books. She also raised me in libraries and scavenged used or speciality book nooks to keep up my instalment in Ameila journals. She had me writing short novels, stapled together drawings with markers and then would wait as I read each page. She put me in drama classes. She volun-told me to run Children’s liturgy with her. That was where I found that maybe, just maybe, I could give 'teaching' a try.

She understands the importance of extra pickles at Harvey’s. She took me to a skating rink and taught me to skate when she didn't even have skates, and help my hands, slipping around the ice and I found out how to glide. Summer after summer I learned how to dive into the pool by jumping off her knees and how to pick green beans so that you don’t ruin the stem. She does crosswords puzzles every morning, makes a tomato sauce every Sunday and always does everything she can do give me anything I need. My mother yelled at me last April during a bout of self pity and told me to give her daughter back. That was one of the hardest things I've ever had to hear. But it worked. 

My mother is the definition of selfless. She always serves us our food first. She always puts us before her. This year we all got 12 presents for the 12 days of Christmas; from 10 pairs of socks, to 4 $50 gift cards. She did the same thing for my 21^st and 16^th birthdays. She bought me a Tiffany’s inspired birthday cake this year. Through my mother's selflessness, I learned to love myself both for the first time, and every time doubt creeps in there after. The love my mother gave me is imprinted on the bones that carry me through my days. 
My mother is the epitome of grace. She is adored by so many. Colleagues, former students and their parents, teacher friends… we’ve been stopped hundreds of times in public places just to talk to people. She may forget their names but, for example, could remember that one project they did nearly 14 years ago or that one joke they made that her in stitches. People constantly tell me how lucky I am that she’s my mom. They tell me how that one conversation with her stuck with them forever. They tell me that she was the reason they got into teaching. They tell me just how funny, charismatic, charming, witty and hilarious she is. 

I agree every time. She may have taught those students science experiments, the first 20 elements of the periodic table before they even entered high school, given them the role of a life time or a heart to heart to inspiring they change their career, and it shows in the gratitude on their faces. She’s prayed for people so hard they start families, get jobs, or at the very least have an overwhelming feeling that everything will be okay. She is a miracle maker. She makes your life lighter by carrying your burdens as her own. They may have seen her in action in a classroom, but I got her as a mom. The greatest teacher I’ve ever met. My person.

She skips through life, literally, so often that she wears out her shoes faster than anyone I know. She’s the most humble person, always bowing her head and saying thank you to someone else. She’s opinionated. She knows how install drywall, remodel entire bathroom or even paint 25 feet ceilings.

She can listen. She can talk. She can inspire. She can lead. I’ve seen my mom cry many a time; crying is something that my family does well. From saying goodbye to people too soon, to something so magical like the closing night of a show, to remembering old memories. But more than that, I get to see my mom interact with my nephew. I get to see him cling to her the way I’m sure we all did. “Mumsie, mumsie, mumssssie” he says. No one hugs like mumsie. No one loves like mumsie. He won’t leave her side when he visits.

I once read that you can't call the relationship between mothers and daughters (but also sons) that of a best friendship because it de-emphasizes the sacred bond. While my dad may say "your best friend is on the phone" when I call from school, we both know our connection runs deeper than any label.  My mother is not like most mothers, for she is my mother. For all that and more, my heart is so, so grateful.

Most of all I am grateful to call myself her daughter.