I am one of four children. Two sisters and one brother. We were always pretty close growing up, minus the intermittent hair pulling, biting and scratching. My mother, a full time RN prior to (and now currently) having children, spent seventeen long years at home - raising us. She was always up before we were and awake hours after we were fast asleep. The next day, we'd rise with the sun and begin trashing the house and reeking havoc on our mother. Holidays were outstanding. Each year, our mother would tell us that "this year, things are tight", and that we shouldn't expect a Christmas like last year. Christmas morning, we would run down the stairs and be smothered with ridiculous amounts of gifts - most of which we certainly didn't deserve. Our mom would spend hours shopping in packed stores, seeking the most popular and sometime outlandish gifts available. I think it was sometimes in the late 90's that my mother actually when to the record store and asked a sales associate if they carried "Old Dirty Bastard"'s newest CD. (I would give anything to have witnessed that conversation:)
It was actually during the last few hours of labor that I realized how special my mother truly is. She was at my side for 27 hours, holding legs in the air, wiping my forehead and bringing me anything and everything I beckoned for. Although I was mostly focused on getting Grace the heck outta me, I now am able to look back and really reflect on everything.
My mother spent seventeen years at home. She listened to whiny kids fighting and crying constantly. Each of us completely different from the next, my mom had my oldest sister, Kate, the smart Alec - who had a sarcastic comeback for everything. Me, the ADD child from hell - who cried each and EVERY day she took me to school and made a mess of anything I could get my hands on. Amanda, the sensitive bull - who for the first few years of life, had a stutter (which I am responsible for - another story, another time) and required some extra attention. And finally, Mikey - the manly man - who like many boys was obsessed with anything relating to war, guns and fighting. Mikey spent the first few years of his childhood removing anything that even slightly resembled a bullet, and adding it to his "ammo box". There was a time when all of the lamp switches in the house were in Mikey's pockets, as he was constantly preparing for battle.
My mom didn't have it easy but somehow never gave up. She was always by us, through thick and thin, through week long bouts of the stomach flu - passed from one kid to the next, through stitches, surgeries and fillings. She was always front row at concerts, basketball games, and football games - holding the really annoying
I hope I can be as wonderful of a mother to Grace and my mother was to me. I hope Grace looks back someday and thinks of me as her hero - just as I think of my mom.
Thanks Mom. I love you.