Men are Not Shoes, Kristin

When I was in my early 20s, I was having a great time dating and exploring my independence and spending more money than I made.  My mother and I had a new relationship: that of young woman and an older, wiser friend, and I talked to her about many issues that I wouldn't have spoken with her about in the past.

One day, we were out to breakfast with a family friend and her daughter, one of my best friends.  We were giggling about men and my friend and I argued against abstinence.  My good Catholic mother, dismayed at the direction this conversation was taking, piped up.

"Men are not shoes, Kristin. You don't wear them out of the store and then put them back on the shelf."

"But mom," I said.  "I don't want to get stuck with a flip-flop when I really want a stiletto."

Crickets.  Then we all burst into laughter and we moved on to other topics.

My mom is strong and vibrant, fun and funny, petite in stature but big in personality.  She was a stay-at-home mom until I was 14, and she breastfed me when formula was all the rage.  In fact, when she called the pediatrician's office in New Jersey for advice on breastfeeding, the nurse said rudely and dismissively, "You should be feeding her every four hours and no more."   Mom cried, and then she picked herself up, called another pediatrician's office, and never went back to the first.

No matter how hateful I was being as a teenager and I would tell my mother that I didn't like her, she would reply, "I may not like you right now either, but I will always love you."  And even now, when we're debating a topic, she'll say with an impish grin, "Know what?" and I fall for it every time and say "What?" and she'll say,  "I love you."

My mom taught me to be strong and brave and independent.  She taught me to rely on myself and to make my own path and that she and my dad were always my biggest fans.  She never described us as "the annoying kids" or any other derogatory term (at least, not within earshot) and the only time she and my Dad went away without my sister and I was when they went to a funeral out of state.  We had dinner together most every night, and she had treats baking most days when I came home from school.  She let me work out my own conflicts, but she was always there to support me.   She listened to me plunking on the piano for hours, and honking on a French Horn until I had mastered both instruments, without complaint.

She focused on my sister and I and showed us that her family was the most important piece of her world.

She was there to pick me up and dry my tears when I thought my world fell apart.

She was there to cheer me on, in spirit if not always in person, as an adult.   She even likes to take credit for my first trip to see Will in Arizona (and she definitely deserves it). 

She is my biggest fan.

When she's with me, I am sometimes teenager-like in my rebellion against her advice.  She often sees my cranky side.  I read recently that a child is generally the most cranky around her mother, because she knows that no matter what, mom loves her.  Not everyone is lucky enough to have a loving, supporting, and fantastic mom like mine, and I am thankful for her every day.

Happy Mother's Day, mom.  I love you so very much.  I'm sure I don't tell you that nearly enough.  

Do you know my mom?  I'd love to hear some stories. 

Mom, passing the love to another generation