When I say "My mom is a saint", if you know me (or her) well at all, you know that I'm not merely spouting flattery; I honestly believe it. Her and I are so vastly different in personality - with similarities here and there, of course - yet we've hardly ever really fought. I'd say a grand total of five good, all-out fights in my life. It wasn't until one of those few recently that I realized she wasn't perfect; twenty-three years in. Even then, I don't know if I believe it.
Sure, some things here or there, such as forgetting to pick us up from school occasionally, should have clued me in, but she's just about the sweetest thing alive and so how could you stay mad at her? I hardly ever lasted the ten minute car ride home.
Year after year she hosts extravagant holiday meals, and she doesn't even like putting on parties! Furthermore, she's an introvert. Somehow, she puts in the hours of preparation, provides a delicious meal even catering to various dietary needs or preferences of guests, and graciously sticks out the entire party, inevitably well-into the night. All so graciously done. And while there may have been a time or two (or more) she's confided in me the desire of a more evident 'thanks', or someone else in our rather large extended family taking a turn, the next year she'll be at it again. Up until 3:00 am the night before thanksgiving, making her famously good pumpkin pies - with a dairy-free one for Grandpa.
She can't help but buy little presents that she sees fit for anyone. She not only eats up the very presence of her two grand sons, but nearly adopts the children of her nieces and nephews. When explaining that I'm one of a now rarely sighted family of six, I usually note my mother's love for babies. I'll never forget, before she had grandchildren the way her face lit up as she gazed on a couple's baby who they brought over to our house. She patiently sat on the couch next to the mother, smiling and admiring the baby's every action. Eventually, after I commented on her exuberance, the mother asked if my own wanted to hold her daughter. I'll never forget the look of pure joy on her face as she happily cuddled and swayed the little one.
My mother was made to be a mom, no doubt about it. She cannot seem to help herself. Many of her selfless mothering actions I would say ask too much, to the point of absurd, but she insists! For instance, nearly every time I visit my parents' house, if there's an opportunity she makes me sit on her lap. I, a grown woman, and her, an aging one, yet she insists. While my brother and his wife stay with them, my mom has taken on his lunch while she makes my dad's. One of few times in my life I was at a literal loss for words was watching her cut up the blueberries for his yogurt because "that's how he likes them."
She's a saint.
Most people have their moments of glaring humanity and imperfection, but we learn to love them in spite of it. My mom is one of those rare types that you tend to wonder where the heck she came from and how come they don't make more like this! The countless hours of her life she has spent just listening to, consoling, and sitting with myself, my siblings, her siblings - let alone my dad! Whenever I finish a bender of a thought-purge and profusely apologize, she replies matter-of-factly, "I don't mind." She carries an incredible amount of patience and grace that seems scarce in this world.
These and at least a hundred other reasons I love that woman, and can confidently say would not be so much of who I am without the example and support she's been for me in my life. I'm wildly blessed to have such a fantastic mother, who is so pleasant to be with and who does so well at putting others before herself in love. If anyone is really responsible for teaching me anything about selflessness in love, it is attributed to her.
To my dear mother, one of the best friends a girl could have, with every last ounce of my heart: Happy Mother's Day.
[...yes, early]
