A Picture of A Mom

I love this picture of my mom. It was taken a few weeks after my sister Dana was born. A couple of years before I came on the scene. I believe she looks especially cool. If I remember correctly she was  20 years old. (Dates....not my strong suit. Yeah, in any facet of the word.)

I think she rolls her eyes at me each time I bring it out and is less than amused when I put it on Facebook. But that's what happens when you create a child like me. They do things that are somewhat annoying over and over again. And enjoy it.

All moms aren't like my mom. It took me a while to understand that was a good thing. She paid attention to everything we said and did as we were growing up....and called us on it. Drove us crazy....and we drove her crazy. But now I know that others did not get that kind of attention....and they had to figure it all out on their own.

I have often had parents tell me that they trust their kids to make the right decision. My mom was invested in us making the right decisions....but always watched us for signs that we were headed down wrong roads. I'm a "prone to wander" type.  Oh, the lectures I had to endure growing up! She never thought I was listening.  But I was. Her voice remains in my head. Always. I have a mind of my own....boy, do I ever..,but everything funnels through Mom's words of wisdom. She figured out things pretty well and always told me in a way that appealed to my sense of logic. Some of the things that are right for her are not necessarily right for me....but because of her I have the freedom and confidence to do it my way.

My siblings and I always have said that we had the perfect parents for grown-ups. They raised us to be adults....when we were grown, they released us to the world and didn't try to force us to do things their way. While I know there were times we made them cringe, they let us figure things out. If we needed advice, they would give it. They didn't resent if we didn't take it. They didn't usually interfere with our personal lives...even when I lived a few doors down from them in the apartments for a while. As adults we were allowed to have our own lives and we did not need to tell our parents everything. As a result, we probably felt free to tell them more than most. Well, Mom says I tell her nothing. Probably because my mind stays pretty crowded and I forget. But really...I trust her with my confidences.

If we found ourselves in trouble, our parents would be there for us...though they never felt if we were in the wrong we shouldn't endure the consequences (yes, I chose to use the double negative. Sometimes I like them). As a result, we're grown-ups. We face those consequences. We first try to figure our own way out of trouble. But when we really need it, we know we can ask for help. We are not surprised people are kind and will help us...because that was modeled for us. We were always around helpful and kind people...not only our parents, but the others they brought into our lives. We also learned how to be there for others. We had responsibility to the world.

An acquaintance asked me the other day if I smile all the time. No....not all the time...but usually. Life is good. I was never raised to believe it was perfect, or fair, or that people were flawless. I was raised to deal with it all as part of life. I was raised that my character was more important than anything else. Way more than money. Way more than what people think.

I was raised to know that God was listening and it didn't matter if everyone else believed me (or didn't believe me)....God knew the truth.  That particular lesson came when Mom suspected I was lying (I was), but she couldn't prove it. It was brilliant. Stopped the lying flat. And gave me a lot of freedom. If God knows the truth, I don't really care what you believe about me. (So there.)

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. Thanks for all you've taught me. You're my favorite. And that picture of a younger you is awesome. Trust me.

When June Cleaver Is Not In The Building

I remember reading an article that said "No mother is June Cleaver". I think it was about the time "Roseanne" was on, and the point of the article was that more moms were like Roseanne. Other than the 50s formality and wardrobe, my mom was a bit closer to June. She was in charge, she was to be respected (not that she always was at first, but she always won in the end) and Mom usually knew best and modeled doing the right thing. I remember wondering whether it was I that was delusional or the writer of this article.  My thought was that while there were many kinds of mothers, there were more Junes in the mom world than Roseannes. At least that was what I had seen in my experience. Evidently the writer of the article's experience was different.

I think it was my first year following college when it actually dawned on me that the term "mother" had even more variety than I ever knew. All kids did not have moms who made them a priority, or cared about their character, or even thought about them much at all. Knowing what I know now, I am sure that I had encountered many of these people prior to that, but I had been oblivious. But working as a houseparent at a children's home at age 21, my eyes were really opened. Continued oblivion was not possible.

The life stories of some of these kids were evidence of a mother who did not meet the stereotype. There was the mom who sent her 12-year old son back from his weekend home visit with a supply of pot (we learned to search his things immediately after every visit.) There was the mother who was involved with someone in the mafia and left her son in the children's home so she could travel out of the country undercover with her boyfriend, who was constantly in danger (the kid, then 15, had seen his babysitter gunned down right in front of him when he was younger.) There were kids with parents who were so caught up in the drug lifestyle they barely noticed when their kids were taken away. There was the 15-year old boy who was in the home voluntarily, tired of his parent's fights. There were mothers who did not believe their daughters when they told them they were sexually abused, and so gave up the child and kept the abuser. There was the couple whose three children were taken away because they were seldom supervised (even though both parents and the bi-sexual mom's girlfriend lived in the home.) Their 8-year old son smoked, and the parents gave a "what can you do?" laugh when they were asked about it. 

I learned not to make assumptions about mothers. Not only about those with obvious parental infractions, but I learned even "nice people" could be pretty crummy mothers. I learned that often there was more below the surface that may not meet the eye.

When I look at my current circle of friends, it is staggering how many had moms who were not really capable of being there for them. One's mom left him when he was six months old. Several had mothers who were mentally ill. Some were left on their own growing up for long periods of time, essentially raising themselves. Some were abused, physically, sexually, mentally and verbally. Some had moms that were "religious", with reams of rules and little love and forgiveness. Some were pawned off on their grandparents or with other family members to raise because mom had to find herself.

At this time of Mother's Day, if you care about the hearts of people, stay alert. Be sensitive to the hearts and experiences of others. I have had a couple of people tell me it is their most hated day of the year. The first time I heard that I was shocked, but now after hearing it quite a few times, I am not anymore. Many skip church that day, just because it makes it even harder. I have learned sometimes Mother's Day reminds them they were short-changed in the mother department, sometimes it reminds them their mom is no longer with them, sometimes it is because their mom is sick with a disease like Alzheimer's and doesn't remember them, other times it is because their mother is mentally ill and still cruel to them. Sometimes it is because they desperately want to be a mother and are not, sometimes because they have outlived a child, other times because their children have problems that tear out their hearts, or because they have children who are out of communication with them. Some have had miscarriages, abortions, lost their children in custody cases, or put their children up for adoption. There is a lot going on inside the people around you, so don't assume it is a happy time for all. Know it can be a time of deep emotion.

I get a bit taken aback when someone wishes me a Happy Mother's Day. Evidently it is the new "Merry Christmas"....I have been wished it three times in the past 24 hours. I always just say "Thank you", but part of me feels the need to explain to them I am not a mother. Setting the record straight. It is uncomfortable. It makes me feel a bit like a mother imposter. It usually leads to a five minute dialogue....OK, monologue because it is just in my mind. What I "should" say, but don't say. "Thank you" is much easier. Sort of.

All mothers are not Roseanne or June. All women of a certain age are not mothers. All mothers are not nurturing, loving, kind or good role models. Sometimes women are mothers without children to hug. If you were gifted with a good mother, know you are fortunate. Don't take them for granted. Celebrate them. If you were blessed to be a mother, please love your children well. It's a job few are sufficiently prepared for, but one that usually grades on the curve. You know, even when I was working at the children's home where so many were shortchanged in the mom department, they craved love from their mother. The need for a mom's love is instinctive. Even the love of a bad mom.

Good mothers are to be celebrated, and so I am OK with the Hallmark day, although a part of me finds it to be unnecessary. Good mothers should be appreciated more than once a year and it shouldn't necessarily be on demand. You know how I hate celebrations "on demand".

I will even celebrate the bad mothers too, on this Hallmark day, because amazing human beings were created as a result of them enduring their pregnancy. (But still, I don't have to like or respect them.)

It doesn't take a good mother to raise an amazing human being, but it certainly helps. If you are raising a daughter, teach her how to be a good mother. She is watching you. Talk kindly to her, listen to her, parent her. You do that by rising above the reality. You do that by acting a bit like June Cleaver. You are the grownup, and your child should get a childhood. You are one of the architects of that childhood. Plan and execute a firm foundation. Make it beautiful and fill it with wonderful memories. 

If you have reason to hate Mother's Day, I hope this year you find comfort. I hope you find joy to eclipse your pain. I personally am glad you were born and hope you love and are loved. If you don't feel you are, call me. We can work on that.

Watching Mom Work

Our mom was in nursing school in Wales when she met our dad.  After four dates (at age 19 I believe it was) she quit school, moved to the US, and married him.  Yes, that is a bit surprising and she would have been horrified if one of her own children had done the same.  But that proved to be a really great decision.  (My guess is that she was driven by a premonition that she was going to get me as a daughter.)  Her destiny was to be a wife, a mother, a grandmother, and a great-grandmother.  And a nurse.

Where Mom worked...and birthed 4 children!

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Though she left nursing school behind back then, Mom's interest in medicine didn't stop.  When she had jobs, they were working for doctors and at the hospital.  We all had nurse's kits and doctors kits when we were growing up and spent our childhoods giving "shots" to each other.  (We were never good at "Operation" though.  That wrenched ankle was a bear to get out!)

Finally, though, she decided to go back to nursing school.  No small feat....all five of us kids had been born by that time and because she was always a very involved parent, it added a lot on top to an already heavy load.  But she did it.

Her nursing career was definitely an interesting one.  After graduation, she started work at Iredell Memorial Hospital.  Have you noticed the nurses in hospitals?  Bed after bed of patients, all needing care, and never enough time to do it all. She would run her feet off for those shifts.  It's often a thankless job.  The doctors often get the accolades and the credit for the healing, but often it wouldn't have happened without an alert nurse on the scene.

For years she worked in home health.  She made her way all around Iredell County as a home health nurse, getting to know all of the roads in the remotest areas of the county.  Often having no idea what she would find as she went into a household.  She encountered people who were rude and made her job more difficult.  She went to homes that didn't have indoor plumbing.  She cared for AIDS patients when little was known about the disease, but when people who had it were often treated as less than human.  Ignorance abound and many in the medical profession would even refuse to treat people with AIDS.  But that was not how she lived her life.  They were sick, they needed care, and she was a nurse.  It was her job to take care of them and do it with compassion.   With courage.  Because it was the right thing to do.

She was the first nursing coordinator for Hospice in Iredell County.   More is known about hospice these days, but that was the early years when it was still a strange concept here.  For those who are unclear, the patients that are referred to Hospice are those thought to be at the end of their life.  Their needs are not only physical, but also emotional.  While we have a wonderful hospice house in our county now, back then all care was given at home.  Needs of these families do not happen on a schedule. Often she got called out in the middle of the night or on the weekend, and often calls came at inopportune times. For example, one Christmas morning when my dad's family was coming over for lunch.  My dad is one of ten children, so these family gatherings were huge.  My mom got a call that morning that one of her patients was not doing well.  She had to go.  His wife was scared and didn't know what to do and needed support.  We all knew that was the priority...and we all had to spring into action to do the things that she would have done.  There were mounds of potatoes that needed to be peeled, last minute cleaning to do and all of the last minute details to pull it all together.  Mom had given us a quick list as she was walking out the door of what needed to be done to get things ready.  She went to comfort and care for a family whose Christmas Day was full of sickness and sadness.  It was another example of her teaching us what is "urgent" and what is "important."  We knew she had a higher calling that morning and as her family we had to support her.

Mom's also worked as a chemo nurse.  Another place of both hope and sadness.  For nurses a place of great stress.  Compounding those chemo drugs required great knowledge and great accuracy.  I know that used to always worry her, but she worked laboriously at the math skills it required, checked and double checked and made sure it was all just right.  It also requires a lot of sticking veins with needles, often when veins are difficult to find and hit just right.  But she was really good at that and could find and hit a vein where others couldn't.  It required cheerleading when patients were down, but also when things were going well.  She always was trying to think about how she could make that whole experience better for her patients.

Of course, I have firsthand knowledge of the kind of nurse my mom was.  She nursed all of us when we were sick and there is no one better.  She knows when you need her, and when you just need time alone.  When we were young and very sick, we got comic books and got to drink soda (a rarity in our Kool Aid and milk household.)  If she thought we were faking to get out of school, she very compassionately said that it sounded like we needed extra rest, so we should just stay in bed all day.  Which in the days of no TVs in your bedroom, meant a day laying in bed doing nothing.  If we were really sick, we were willing to do just that (though generally she would let us off the hook and let us lay on the couch with a blanket and watch tv when she decided we were not faking.)  Truth was we often had a miracle recovery.

You can seldom go anywhere with my mom without at least one person coming up to her and thanking her for what she did for them when she was their nurse, or more often thanking her for how much her caring for their loved ones was appreciated by their family.  Sometimes she doesn't remember the family member, but she almost always remembers her patient.  But should she not, it would not be surprising.  She cared for many, many people during her career.

(L to R) My sister-in-law Beth, my brother Scott, Mom and Dad

This week my brother Scott graduated from nursing school.  During the pinning ceremony, he was pinned with the same pin our mother was pinned with when she graduated from nursing school when he was still in elementary school.  He has inherited her compassion, and has been taught how to share it, and will be a wonderful nurse.  I suspect he says she is his greatest teacher, and he has learned from the best. We learn from how our parents live their everyday lives before us.  They don't always even realize they are teaching.  But they are...even in the attitude they show while doing their job (be it a good attitude or a bad attitude.)  While Mom said she wasn't sure she wanted us to go into nursing because it was such a difficult profession, the truth is that she showed us that it is among the noblest.  I know she is proud of Scott's decision...and the work ethic he displayed in preparing for it when he was in school.  We are all a bit in awe of nurses and are glad he is turning into part superhero. (And OK...I admit it.....I am also a nurse's biggest critic if I don't see them with the same kind of attitude and energy and kindness and empathy that my Mom had when she was working.  My standards and expectations for them are high.)

Happy Mother's Day Mom!  Thank you for teaching us compassion and that all the people around us are worthy of care.....even when they are sick and unpleasant and everyone else avoids them.  Regardless of their religion, disease, lifestyle or the color of their skin.  Thank you for working hard and tirelessly and being dependable as you did it.  Without even realizing it, as we saw you work, you taught us how to love people as God does. That was a seed that continues to grow and will change the world for generations to come.

Meant To Be My Mom

Our relationship has often not been easy.  I think from the time I was 12 until I left for college at 18 I probably screamed at her every day.  (She often screamed back.) Mostly I didn't feel she had the right to tell me what to do.  Yeah....I know legally she did.  And it was her responsibility as a parent.  But still I felt that if I was willing to take responsibility for my actions, including any consequences that came from them, I should have that freedom.  I also always felt like she who should know me best should understand I was capable of making good decisions.  She always worried I wouldn't.  That meant for tension.  I think it was about when I left for college that I first started understanding this and seeing it didn't totally have to do with her lack of faith in me.   That last year before college she kept plying me with questions of how I would handle this situation or that situation.  Irritated I finally asked "Do you think I am stupid?"   Her response was "I am just afraid that there are things we haven't taught you that you need to know."  I started to understand it... a little!  She wanted to make sure she had done her job well.

I have always felt like my mom was very critical of me.  She feels she is trying to be helpful, to give me advice or tell me the truth.  I just feel criticized and like I don't quite measure up.  I have always made up my own mind about things, and tried not to let the criticism or opinions of other carry too much weight.  I like that  about myself.  And it works well with most people.  But with my mom, even if I discount it on the surface, it gnaws underneath.  A minor criticism becomes a major one.  A major criticism is a failure.  The weighting I place on her words is different than the weight to comments from anyone else on earth.  I definitely overreact.  And it annoys me that it matters that much.  But it does.  It's the opinion of my mom.

And I must acknowledge that I mirror that back to her.  I am more critical of her than I am of other people.  I expect her to live to a higher standard than I expect from others.  She who taught me how to judge people by their hearts and not by things they had no control over, who taught me to give and receive with grace and thanksgiving, and to keep short accounts with those you love, resolve issues and move on....made me see her as superhuman.  I expect her to live to a standard that is probably quite impossible....and probably one I don't want to be held to myself.

But yet, I know for sure there is no one who loves me more.  Never once in my life have I seriously doubted that.  That love is not conditional.  I can call in any crisis, be truthful about who I am and what I did.  She will not tell me what I did was OK, or that it had to be someone else's fault, but she will help me develop a plan of action to get through it.  She has never looked at me with blind eyes.  My character has always mattered beyond everything else to her.  That I tell the truth.  That I accept responsibility when I screw up.  That I go beyond accepting responsibility and try to go an extra mile and learn a life lesson.  Figure out how to not let it happen again. And realize that my actions do not only affect me....they affect others.  Rose colored glasses do not often raise good human beings.

The only time I remember my mother being mad about my grades in school was when I made a "Needs Improvement" in Citizenship in 7th grade (given to me by Mrs. Jordan.)  You won't find it hard to believe that it was for talking.  Mom hit the ceiling.  There never was a lot of pressure at our house when it came to grades, but that was the one I was punished for.  To be disrespectful to our teachers was not acceptable behavior.  Not only did she request my seat be moved in my classroom away from the friend I talked to (which I do believe was Tania Helms Bogenschneider), but until she was assured that my behavior had improved, I was basically under house arrest.  The rule in our house was that with any punishment at school, we would get twice the punishment at home.  And that rule was adhered to.  The teacher was always right, because they owned the classroom.  No excuses were acceptable.  Adults were to be respected.  I know now what a gift that point of view gave me.  We always have a boss or someone in authority over us.  Our first reaction should be respect.  Not whether we agree with them or not.  Not excuses acceptable, other than going against the law or morality.
 
My mom took the job of parenting seriously.  It was her priority. She didn't care to be my friend. I remember telling her one day that one of my friends said her mom was her best friend (implying that if she would just be a bit cooler maybe she could be mine.)  My mom could not have cared less.  She said "You'll have a lot of friends in life and only one mother."  And she was right.  Moms trump friends.  Moms are different from friends.  Moms have responsibilities that friends don't.  I sometimes see moms now that use their children as their confidant and sounding board.  My mother never did that.  I am grateful.  I was allowed to be a child.  My mom solved my childhood problems.....she didn't make it my job to solve her grown up ones.  She was the parent, I was the child. 

My mom raised five children that are very different from each other, but also very similar.  We are all opinionated, we are all stubborn, we are all independent, we are all loyal.  We can all be a pain in the neck, but we also have people in our lives willing to point that out to us.  Not just with each other, but all of us tend to choose friends who will do the same.  (And we appreciate those people.)  We argue amongst ourselves on occasion, but generally with humor and don't hold grudges against each other.  I think as adults we would get good citizenship awards, though we all still may talk too much on occasion. 

My mom has been able to transition to being the mom of adult children.  She doesn't interfere with our decisions.  She doesn't put a lot of demands on us.  While she still cares about our character (and her heart breaks when she sees a fault line there), she allows us to make our own mistakes and deal with their own consequences.   She allows that independent side of me to have its hard won freedom, even when I do things that she deems a bit crazy or risky.  I don't feel guilty for this or apologize for it....she can handle it.  She is a strong woman who taught me to be a strong woman.  I am sure she worries  about us just as much as she did when we were younger, but she lets us be adults.  Maybe I should state it a bit stronger....she expects us to be adults.  Evidence that she has done her job well is that we are capable of taking care of ourselves. 

What the adult me knows is this:  It is a gift to have a mom who takes their job seriously.  It is a gift to have a mom who pays attention to their children, noticing both the good and the bad.  It is a gift to have a mom whose love for you is pure.  It is a gift to have a mom who is in your corner cheering you on.  It is a gift to have a mom who cares.  It is a gift to have a mom who has faith in the grown up that she has raised.

On this Mother's Day, thank you for the gifts, Mom.  I know everyone on this earth didn't get a great mom.  You are loved and appreciated.  Even when I may not act like it.  Of all the moms in the world, you were uniquely given the gifts to make me the person I am.  You were meant to be my mom.  You were chosen by God for me and I love you for taking on that challenge.  And continuing to take it on, even now!