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"Mother Love is the fuel that enables a normal human being to do the impossible."
-Marrion C. Garretty
Mom’s day, Mothering Sunday, Mother’s Day, Dia de las madres…however you slice it, it’s a Hallmark gimmick for an appreciation that we oughta be throwing parades for on a weekly basis.
The flower ads and gag-me, overly smooshy, sentimental cards just don’t interest me. But it’s a wonderful opportunity to cook for the moms, and offer props for all they do. Not just my own mom and grandma(s), but the aunties, godmom, and all the friends’ moms, as well as the cousin and friends who are now impressing me with their parenting stamina as well.
All my friends joke that their children will require huge therapy bills one day…but it is precisely the kind of parents who think about such things that do not cause that kind of dysfunction!
The quote I chose at the beginning of this, is sadly, only true for some of us. Not everyone is graced with the type of mother love that believes in you so blindly, that you keep on runnin’ even when things seem impossible. Did my mom ever doubt me? Heck, yes! Doubted my fashion choices, boyfriend choices, career choice…my room decor, hairstyle, phone bills, sobriety, social skills…frankly, even my intelligence during some choice moments. But I’m Ok with that. Because she let me try. She often didn’t tell me of her doubts until years after the fact.
I never became one of those Asian geeks obsessed with their 4.0’s. Hell, I doubt I ever, ever had straight A’s! Much more importantly, she helped make me a compassionate, creative, and hard working person. School was important, but so was the zoo, and museums, making pancakes, raising pets, dancing, gardening, traveling, reading trips to the library, and helping others. No doubt she questioned her judgment during my leather-clad, chain smoking, narcissist-dating, binge drinking years. But that weird girl went on to her dream school in L.A. Earned a doctorate, traveled to a dozen countries, and donated hundreds of hours of volunteer work.
B and I have spent many a run chatting about how amazing our moms are, and how we just kinda lucked out on the lotto of life in that category.
Sometimes doing psychotherapy feels like re-parenting someone who never grew up with that unconditional positive regard, that smiling face is the crowd. I feel sad to think of the moms who aren’t with us, about how I don’t buy grandma cards or gifts anymore… because one has passed from this life and the other is no longer cognizant of it. But I will always remember the grandma hugs, their laughs, the delicate looking hands that knitted blankets and sweaters or braided my hair.
The life I live seemed impossible not long ago, and probably would have sounded impossible to mom when she was my age.
Mom just came over to pick something up (which never occurs without a simultaneous drop-off), and brought me a fascinating concoction. Apparently mom is having fun with her new mega-blender.
"This has 10 things in it! Blackberries, strawberries, lemon, papaya, yogurt, broccoli, cucumber, banana…" Honestly I can’t even recall the entire list because I probably stopped listening when she said "broccoli." I’m no hater of cruciferous vegetables, had broccoli at lunch today in fact. But in my smoothie? I pour the glass into my mug and the thing is anti-gravity thick. But hey, it’s pretty good!
Adidas ain’t got anything on moms- "Impossible is Nothing."
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