"Words are not enough to express the unconditional love that exist between a mother and daughter." -Unknown
That's not going to stop me from trying though. As a writer, I strive to put everything into some form of poetic catastrophe that strikes the chords of the heart. Oh, and guess what? I'm a writer because of my mom. What a surprise. Did you catch the sarcasm in that? No? Well, let me just explain why that was a sarcastic remark.
There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of my mom. From what she must be doing that day to the lessons she taught me, she's always on my mind. I can honestly say that I'm so thankful for her. Sure, we don't have the same kind of relationship that my father and I have. And we certainly have fights like most teenagers have with their mother. But, without a doubt, my mother has taught me things that I never even thought I would need to know. She's done so much for me and I haven't given her the recognition that she deserves. Our bond is so different from other relationships and it totally deserves to be written about, even if I couldn't possibly describe everything you've done for me. So this one's for you, Momma.
There's many things growing up that I couldn't have survived without my mom. My first period I ran out of the bathroom with my underwear in hand, asking if that red dot was what I thought it was- thank God for my mom, my dad was a deer in headlights. Or when I told my parents I needed a bra, not because I had breasts but because I was in sixth grade and we had to change in gym. And I especially could not have done my makeup for my senior pictures.
She taught me that my sister and brother are the only siblings I'll get so I should only be mean to them when she isn't watching to yell at me. She taught me to appreciate the things I get because if I didn't she'd take them away and then I'd be sorry. She taught me that I shouldn't spray candy paint on Grandma's white garage and that if my older brother does something stupid I should just tell her because she's going to find out anyway, rather than be his accomplice. She taught me to work for what I wanted. She taught me that I was perfect in all my wildly unkempt ways, but also taught me if I ran a brush through my hair just the right number of times it would sparkle and shine for a while.
She taught me a lot. She taught me how to survive and thrive.
She taught me how to deal with the drama that comes from being a girl. If this GIF doesn't accurately express a teenage girl's experience throughout high school, I'm not sure what does. Girls create drama. We feed on it like little monsters. Unfortunately (or fortunately) we can only handle so much before it absolutely breaks our spirits and the dramatic monster turns into a ball of tears which can only be comforted by that woman who knows exactly what you're going through, that woman who will support your opinions but will let you know when you've crossed a line. I cannot begin to tell you how many times I cried to my mom about the drama that came from being on a girls' basketball team. And I certainly could not list off the amount of times I've cursed up a storm to my mom about the obnoxiousness of small-town best friend drama.
And do not even get me started on boys. Boys are the worst thing for a girl. Absolutely without a doubt, horrid. Boys tear down our defenses, knock down our self-esteem, and flash charming smiles that have us melting in our too-high high heels. Luckily, moms are good with boy drama too. My mom tried to facilitate my relationships with the boys in my life, playing my sort-of wing woman. Sometimes it was too much, but sometimes I needed that small push and she gave it to me. She made sure I knew what I deserved from a boy and that was everything. She made it clear that I deserved the white picket fence surrounding a castle with a unicorn. So Mr. Charming is having a harder time getting past the moat my mom helped me dig, but that's okay. She also taught me the harder a boy works for you, the better he will be for you.
Moms also begin the initiation process into the world of shopping. Now, my mom hates shopping nine times out of ten. And she taught that to me. People are stupid. Stores are disorganized. Prices are too high. But it never failed: an event to dress up her daughters? You better bet my mother had us out of bed bright and early to get to the mall. Homecoming? Prom? Awards ceremony? You better believe we had the whole world at our fingertips. She wanted the best for us. What's the best, you ask? Our dream dress, the perfect shoes, that sparkling hair clip. Oh, and don't forget the matching jewelry. Sometimes I think my mom enjoyed the process more than we did. And while she raised me to be the cheap ass I am today, she yelled at me every time I turned that price tag over on dress. Those shopping trips? They were the best. Not because I could spend as much of my parents' money as I wanted, but because we got to play dress up, laugh at outrageously ugly clothing, and spend as much of my dad's money as we wanted.
You know what gets me the most though? Her undying support for everything that we wanted to do. That's the great thing about my mom. It doesn't matter if you want to play sports, wear dark make up, kiss boys or girls. She doesn't care if you love video games, the zombie apocalypse, or if you just disappear into your head for hours at a time. Not only does she not care if you do those things, but she encourages them.
At a young age, my sister and I loved bed time. Why? Because every night before bed, Mom would let us pick three books that she would read. We'd pick the same three books, because we had them memorized and had key points where we could shout out the words. We'd climb into her lap in the rocking chair, tell her which one we wanted first ("The Little Old Lady Who Wasn't Afraid of Anything by Linda Williams) and then scream "BOO!" whenever the pumpkin head appeared. Next would be "Ten Timid Ghosts" by Jennifer O'Connell. I'm fairly certain that my sister and I took that book over and ended up reading it to my mom more often than not. Last would be, "My Monster Mama Loves Me So" by Laura Leuck. Is anyone seeing a theme here? We were certainly odd children.
We did that every night until I was too big to be sitting on her lap, then we moved to the couch and did it for a bit longer. From this crazy Halloween themed nightly reading, I became an avid book reader and eventually a writer. There were years on end that all I wanted for Christmas was books. I was the number one reader in my fifth grade class. I tore through books at an amazing pace and I could get so lost and emotionally invested in them. Just a few years ago I got "The Perks of Being a Wallflower" for Christmas, read the entirety of it that very day. I'll never forget my family's faces as I chucked the book across the living room while they all ate dinner. Forks frozen inches from their faces, chuckles already escaping my sister's mouth, and of course, my mom's knowing look. There was no shock written across her face.
She reads all of my writing. These articles that I recently started writing. My poetry even though I suck horribly at poetry. My short stories. Sometimes I'll even open up a document that I would like to turn into a longer novel - something I share with no one- and beg my mom to tell me how bad it is.
And you know what? She does. She critiques the hell out of everything I do. You'd think it would suck and I'd stop showing her stuff, stop seeking her out. But I've never known a bigger supporter. I've never known anyone that wants to see me succeed as much as my mother so every time she tells me how stupid and unrealistic a line is, I know she's telling me so I can get better, so I can publish. So I can achieve my dreams.
There is not a truer statement than the one above. I've become the woman I am because of the woman my mother is and taught me to be. She has her flaws, but I guarantee that there's no better person for me. No woman who could guide me like she has. No woman who would openly answer any question I ask. No woman who could teach me better than she has. No woman who could show me what I deserve, what I should work for. No woman who I would rather aspire to be like than her.
I love you, Mom.
