She made your lunch before school five days a week, folded your laundry, cooked your dinner, took care of you when you were sick, drove you to school when it rained, came to your room when you cried in your sleep, took you trick or treating, dressed you before you could say shirt, tickled you faithfully whenever you asked, and welcomed you with open arms when she hadn’t seen you all day.
She’s also a wife, a daughter, perhaps a sibling, and maybe (someday) a grandmother. She’s also a registered nurse, an administrative assistant, a lawyer, a bank teller, an assembly-line worker, an EMS volunteer, a physical therapist, a newspaper reporter, a college professor or a doctor.
But you know her as Mom, Mum, Momma, and Mommy.
But do you know who she was before you, before she was your Mom? If you take your Mom out for lunch today, ask her what it was like for her as a girl? As a teenager? What was her favorite toy? Her favorite album? Did she take music lessons? Dance lessons? What chore did she like the most on the farm? Who taught her how to drive a car? What was her relationship like with your grandmother?
Let her tell you her stories. And let her tell your kids the funny ones when she was bored as a child and the ones that make her sound like a superhero.
Jordan knows these stories of my Mom already, the two from the Seventies when she lassoed our neighbor’s dog who had fallen through their swimming pool cover and the other story at the same neighbor’s house in which she extinguished a fire coming from their oven.
He also likes to hear the story of his Oma as a girl. One day, while living on a farm, she heard a wheezing sound. The farm had an apple orchard and and there were also cows who fed off the fallen apples. The wheezing came from a cow who had an apple caught in its throat. It had tried to eat the apple straight off the tree but by lifting its head up, gravity caused the apple to tumble down its throat. Realizing this, my Mom ran to the choking cow, stuck her hand in and pulled out the apple.
If she hasn’t told you her stories yet, ask her. She’s waiting.
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