Chapter Five - Mother's Day-ish
In observance to the upcoming holiday, (Sunday, that day, being the Mother’s Day you may have forgotten about until now. You’re welcome for the reminder!) I’d like to dedicate this week’s blog to my mother.
For those of you who may not know her, to say that she is my muse would be an absolute and complete lie. This woman (while being the embodiment of strength) is a germaphobe, ducks-in-a-row, lover of all colors neutral kind of woman.
Her house is clean, organized, and when you walk inside you may catch a hint of sweet-smelling Febreze she uses in her cleaning ritual. All her rooms are decorated perfectly, and, on occasion, you’re left wondering why she’s a manager of people and not some celebrity interior designer.
Her creativity comes in the form of room décor and photography.
These things are nothing like my purple-haired, eccentric, ducks-in-different-ponds-entirely sort of taste.
My house? Well, not to scare you…but if you were to walk in unannounced, you’d notice several things. I fling my bra anywhere I please, a dog dust-bunny is liable to follow you down the hallway, and the general aroma is a mix between something that has recently been cooked or incense that you’ll either love or hate (which is how incense always tends to be, there is no middle). I try for the subtle smell of clean, but that has to come with the cleaning gene, and, clearly, it’s skipped me. Not that I live in a trash heap, but I would certainly be carrying an armload or two of unfolded (at least clean) laundry to hide in my bedroom.
And my décor? Well, let’s say I like a lot of things that don’t match the other. Color on color, on lanterns, candles, desk lamps, fairy lights, multicolored globes, and salt lamps.
Really, the only thing organized about me is my bookshelves.
My creativity comes in the form of writing, doodling, and being able to make piles of things look not-so-terrible.
We’re opposites down to the very foods we eat. She’s the lover of all things crispy, and I’m the lover of the squishier side of things. Waffles to pancakes, English muffins to biscuits, crunchy fries to soft ones. The list, she goes on.
My mother, as I’ve said before, is strong. She’s the only person I know who can look at a crisis dead in its eye and strangle it into submission with words and careful action. And she does it with compassion that I think would have her on the consideration list for sainthood. She loves hugs and popcorn, maybe equally. She is so smart she could organize your life for you—and the lives of everyone you love, if you ask—but so afraid of bugs she’ll run inside if anything (and I mean anything) brushes/crawls on/buzzes her. (There was this one time we went camping and a bug flew straight up her nose. The BFB we call it; Big F*cking Bug. My graceful, elegant, proper mother’s instinct was to snort it out and I don’t think I’ve laughed so hard in my life. ((Sorry Mom, it was too good not to share.)) )
She loves movies and to quote them. She is tender-hearted but can apply logic in stressful situations…and really…okay, I just wish I were more like her.
The thing is…she gets me, even if she doesn’t always understand me. And she may not be my muse, but she is most certainly my rock. A far more important structure in the base of life!
She brought me into this world, raised me through hardships, laughter, and tears. And though we are opposites, I am most proud to say we’ve come together as best friends.
A good yang to my yin (because I’m totally the dark one between us).
Life wouldn’t be bright without her presence.
So, dear mom of mine, Happy Mother’s Day-ish…because it’s Wednesday, not Sunday…
…this’ll count as my card to you though, right?