Hitting the Motherload

My mother emailed me tonight and asked why I had not blogged in about a week. Which made me feel guilty. Which is her job. So here I am, blogging.

I wrote her back and told her I was out of topics. Then it occurred to me that it is almost Mother's Day. So here is a post about my mother. Remember, Donna, you asked for it.

Oh, I could tell you funny stories about my mom. Like the time she gave herself a home pedicure treatment by dousing her feet in corn oil and wrapping them in Saran wrap; problem was, we had hardwood floors in our house and we slipped and slid all over the place for days. 

Or I could tell you about my mom's quirks.  I could tell you about her complete failure to keep track of things, a trait I'm sorry to say that I have inherited. Car keys, purses, jewelry, you name it, she's lost it. One year, I got a Christmas gift that she purchased for the previous year and found just one year later. The highly esteemed comedian Father Guido Sarducci (what ever happened to him?) once quipped that in heaven, you get back everything you had lost in life. My mom is in for the "motherload" of lost things being returned to her, which will include hundreds of single earrings, scores of key rings, and a couple dozen umbrellas. 

But I think I'll tell you about her heart. She epitomizes the Great Command as much as anyone I know. She loves God and she loves her neighbor. How do I know she loves God? Yes, she goes to Mass, but that's not proof. She strives to stay on that road that none of us can fully stay on, the path of righteousness, and prays for His help to do so. She believes in Him even through her doubt.

And she loves her neighbor. She stays at homeless shelters overnight to care for people. She hires poor people to work around her house on projects that maybe don't really need to be done. She is not rich but gives. She has a heart of generosity that I try to emulate.

And she loves her kids. She hasn't had the easiest road--it would have been easy to check out on her kids through the hardship, but she didn't. She was a single mom for a good bit of my young life. With three kids (none of whom were shrinking violets), she worked as an accomplished nurse and kept a roof over our head and food on the table. 

She encouraged without pushing. I never got in trouble for getting Bs or even Cs (and one D in 9th grade science), but I did get confidence that I could do better. After one day of swimming with a year-round program when I was 12, I cried all the way home because it was "too hard." She didn't tell me I had to continue. But she asked me to try it for the rest of the week only, and if I didn't want to do it after that, I could stop. She wasn't mad or domineering but rather calm and confident. Because of that, I agreed, and got a college scholarship and a lifetime of great memories as a result of her wise advice.

Yes, she made mistakes. I will too. But she gave me a great foundation to work from as I raise my own daughters.

So, thanks, Mom. For everything. 

Except for the scar on my leg when I oil-surfed down the hallway and into the air vent.