Mother
a little something I thought was interesting
My mother is visiting us next week.
I call her mother when I am being serious, I call her mama when I am being sweet, I say my mom when I am talking about her behind her back, and sometimes, now this is her favorite … old woman.
When she is doing something truly unhinged it’s “Listen here, old woman!”
I asked her if we could postpone Mother’s Day celebrations/gifts until she gets here and she replied …
“I already got you and your sister a little something I thought was interesting.”
The word interesting panics me.
When it comes to my mother, the spectrum of what she finds interesting is er, um, well … interesting.
It could be a Starbucks gift card but more likely it’s a necklace of alligator teeth, a pack of wild Mexican dogs, a crocheted hat (that she made). She could be gifting me a round of cosmic mini-golf or two plane tickets to Los Angeles. Perhaps it’s her homemade pepper jelly, a couple cashmere scarves, an embroidered purse full of pesos, or a bottle of her homemade perfume.
My mother’s tastes are eclectic to say the least.
When I was younger I wanted store-bought-pre-fab-plastic-mainstream anything. What I got was homespun-with-love-handmade everything.
She is a maker. Anytime I would point out something in a store that I wanted, my mom’s automated response was “I can make that.”
As much as I hated hearing it or admitting this, a lot of the time she could. Or at the very least a somewhat passable version. She made my ballet recital tutus, the cakes with the Barbies baked into them, all of my crocheted bikinis, the costumes for every play, forth of July float, and holiday as needed.
There’s been a fair share of flubs along the way. The inedible carob brownies circa 1997 are still burned into my brain. She’s made some “abstract” paintings, a few very scary dolls, and a couple questionable looking, albeit delicious, cakes.
I just yelled to my son in the other room and asked “What’s the worst thing Yaya’s ever made?”
Without hesitation he answered “You!”
Um. Rude.
He calls her, Yaya, and there is zero doubt in anyone’s mind that the two of them are soulmates.
He turns his nose up at my store-bought halloween costumes, pre-packaged brownies, and generic Hallmark cards.
His grandmother’s son, he wants air-popped (not microwaved) popcorn, organic eggs warm from the coop, fresh baked bread, and construction paper greeting cards dripping with Elmer’s glue and glitter.
The parts of my childhood where I begged for something basic, normal, commercial are the parts of my son’s childhood he cherishes the most.
The other day I saw him wearing a long purple amethyst necklace Yaya had made for him, even at sixteen years old, he still knows the importance of gift from her, no matter how “interesting” the gift may be.
Love you, mama.
You have always been a warm ray of sunshine in my life. Your love kept me afloat when everyone in my world was letting me down. You are my dearest confidant and the voice of deep wisdom. And then you did the unbelievable. You brought from heaven, a little boy who I didn't know I was waiting for since the day I was born. Clearly I was. From the first time I looked into his eyes on his way into the world, not even quite born yet, something clicked. There he was, the being that I was best friends with forever. We finally reunited on earth.
That is the only Mother's Day gift I will ever need.
I think you know that you are lucky. happy mother's day.