Shout Out to Moms

Mothers are very amazing people. They have the capacity to do many incredible things and are experts at making memories. It has recently occured to me that a mother's love is a treasure that can never be replaced. The holiday season has begun, heralding a time for families to get together to celebrate. Although I feel quite festive, I miss her. She died 9 years ago, two days before Mother's Day. Her death was swift and unexpected, she was only 51. My Mom was a remarkable woman who went above and beyond to make every holday special. My earliest recollection of her holiday magic was when I was 7 years old. I was enchanted with thoughts of a large white bunny wearing a vest who bore baskets laden with gobs of candy and colored eggs. What kid wouldn't be excited? The Easter Bunny was a huge celebrity in our household and we were terribly upset when it began to pour as we went to bed. How could EB hide the eggs in all that rain? Our baskets would be soaked, the candy would be reduced to waterlogged waste and we would be forced to stay indoors. We went to bed very glum indeed. The following morning we awoke before our parents and imagine our surprise. There were BUNNY PRINTS all over our house??!! Gleefully we followed EB's footprints, eagery finding our booty-indoors! I can remember laughing, giddy with delight as I found eggs hidden in my slippers, resting on the toothbrush holder, between the sofa cushions and in potted plants. Man EB really knew his shit, he ROCKED! Bad weather couldn't stop him, he was a clever bunny and knew the joys that kindled in a child's heart. There was no doubt that EB existed, there were 5" colored paper footprints all over the place-we had THE proof. Years later I am still struck by her creativity, skill and love. She took the time out of her schedule to cut out all of those "foot prints", arranged them throughout the house and instilled in me a love for egg hunting. I remember the last time we had our egg hunt. I was 25, my sisters and I had come home for the Easter gathering. My Mom got up and the crack of dawn, followed by her canine companion Iggy, and hustled out into the backyard. Her last escapade as EB was preserved on video tape by my Grandfather. As she went around the yard hiding the eggs, Iggy followed and being the dutiful friend that he was, gently picked up all the eggs that she had skillfully hidden and neatly stacked them by the front porch. The camera shook as my Grandfather laughed at Iggy's helpful attitude, not an egg was broken. My Mom realized what Iggy was doing, laughed her ass off, put the dog inside the house and re-hid the eggs. Now I realize that normal people don't hunt eggs into their 20's, usually it stops in the early teens but she had made it such a wonderful experience that we all wanted to continue to do it.

Another fond memory of my mother was when I was in college. It was my sophomore year and I'd gone home for Christmas break. I arrived before my sisters so it was just Mom and me. We decided to celebrate a bit early by opening a nice bottle of scotch. We chatted, and promptly forgot about dinner. At the time she was addicted to a TV program so we staggered into the livingroom to watch it. Half way through the program we were both blotto. My Mom turned to me and slurred that the haircut of one of the TV characters would look great on me. I agreed so we decided to cut my hair. The program ended and I put on some Christmas music while she went to get her haircutting gadgets. We sang along with the music while I sat in the chair, listening to the clicking of the scissors, drinking scotch, and giggling with my Mom. I don't remember what we talked about but I do remember it was fun! When she'd finished, a mirror was produced so I could see the marvelous new haircut. I remember gazing blearily into the reflection, I thought it looked fabulous! I praised her technique while we cleaned up and stumbled up the stairs to bed. The following morning I had one hell of a pumpkin head and while brushing the fur off my teeth, I looked at myself through Clint Eastwood eyes. WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?? blared through my alcohol pickled brain. It dawned on me then that my mother was not a hair styist nor was she trained to cut hair. She'd used the dog clippers on me for goodness sake! My new doo was a bastardized version of Moe from the Three Stooges except my hair was shorter than his!! My bowl haircut stopped at the top of my ears, I looked like a mutated Fraggle. I came out of the bathroom and met a very hung over Mom, her eyes widened, the look in her eyes told me how sorry she was. She said, "I think we had a bit too much to drink last night." I agreed, gave her a hug and told her it would grow back. For the next two months I wore a knit cap wherever I went. I howl with laughter now, thinking back on that occasion. She was just trying to help, and in her special way she did. She gave me a wonderful memory, filled with laughter and a reminder that one should not drink while getting one's haircut.

I will miss my Mom for the rest of my life but I will always have fond memories of her love and support. Big love to Moms everywhere, thank you for all that you do.