My Mother's House

The kids and I have returned to the home state for a couple weeks.

There's a great comfort walking into the house I've grown up in since I was 8 years old. At this point, I've been leaving and coming back to this house for 13 years - longer than I actually lived there. But it's still home, despite how many times my mom rearranges the furniture (read: quarterly). And now it's something even more special for my children - Grand's house.

Of course, my children are grandchildren numbers ten and eleven to come to this house - to try to avoid upsetting Linka the canktankerous German Shepherd, take walks on the golf course, and love the twizzler jar (but whatever happened to the M & M jar that was ever present during the potty training years? I miss that!). My parents are no strangers to welcoming little people to their home and like centuries of grandparents before them, have delighted in that special bond between the very young and the old.

But my mother has a special quality for welcoming children to her house. She is no ordinary grandmother. There is a warmth to her house that makes everyone want to be here. I want to try to remember it forever, especially since they'll be moving soon. My parents bought a new piece of property out on a beautiful lake and they're building a house on it, a house to retire in. I don't blame them, and I know that any house that my mom makes into a home will have that same quality. But this house holds so many memories for us, and for Susannah already.

It's true that both my parent's live here and my father's presence is no less. But it's my mother that's the homemaker and makes it a home, a fact I'm sure my father wouldn't dispute. Their styles are easily merged as neither of them is afraid of color and both have a distinct aesthetic sense. Yet it's true the home wouldn't be what it is without Dad: his bouts of "company is coming so I need to build a trellis on the back patio" are legendary. 

When we moved in, there was wall-to-wall shag carpet and horrible wall paper all over ever surface that would stand still. By the time we were done with it, it wasn't recognizable and I've never seen another house quite like it. For one thing, when I tell people I grew up in a house with orange walls and a yellow ceiling, I'm not sure anyone believes me that the affect was not circus-like. It sounds even more doubtful when I say the floor is painted concrete: terra cotta red and forrest green. But so it is. 

One of the best parts of my mother's house is that every chair has a lamp for reading and every table is actually a little vignette all its own. It's always been this way, but now it takes on a magical quality for my children. When they come in the door, there are any number of surprises - not laid out right in front of them, but tucked in around the house. On a window sill, a procession of elephants - a family of unicorns frolicking on their own table - a velvet rocking chair with two new books. My children discover these things over the days, as they explore the house, as they settle in to a routine of hearty meals and unlimited hours of imaginative play punctuated with long bouts of read aloud books. When they get a drink, the cups are orange with glitter and pumpkins floating about in them. 

Now as an adult, I know many of these objects personally - I buy items I know would appeal on my travels. I recognize that making a home is a life's work: there is no instant, no store to buy all a home needs. There's a tile from a great museum in Austin from the Edel Conference, a slightly rusted tin plate that was my father's as a boy, a print of a home Mass that they acquired from their Thanksgiving trip to Ireland a few years ago. Two of my favorites are the citrus crate made for them by my godfather and the didgeridoo my brother brought back from Australia when he was in the Marines.  

Much has changed over the years, there's no doubting that. When my uncle was still alive, I remember our Christmas's being much more Victorian with rich jewel tone ribbons. That gave way to an embrace of my mother's southern California roots, a great deal more of Mexican inspired art and elements, coinciding easily with half the household taking Spanish classes. After us kids left the house, Americana has crept in slowly to be a more dominant influence, though still coexisting kindly with the earlier vestiges of her evolving style. My parent's conversion to Catholicism has woven perhaps the brightest new thread into the home, a distinct theme - but perhaps the most interesting, in that far from alienating any of other, older elements, it has suddenly provided the unifying note to all that's gone before. Grace builds upon nature, in homemaking no less than in living. My mother's house is a beautiful testimony to the richness of a life that has come into full bloom, handsome and full in the light of grace.

Postpartum Thoughts

"When her mother reproached her for caring for the poor and sick at home, St. Rose of Lima said to her 'When we serve the poor and sick, we serve Jesus. We must now fail to help our neighbors, because in them we serve Jesus.' " 

- Quoted in the Catechism, at number 2449 

Teeny tiny David, relaxing while I frantically guilt-sew a doll blanket for Zuzu, which she then promptly threw on the floor sobbing "it's not a dress! I wanted a DRESS for my dolly!" 

Consensus has it that something is majorly wrong with the West's postpartum practices. On various parenting or breastfeeding forums that I'm a part of, I regularly see women asking about getting back down to pre-pregnancy weights or fitting back in old clothes at a month - or a week! - postpartum. Blythe Fike wrote a much hailed post about how to do the postpartum period differently, and it's also been written about notably here and here.

My postpartum experiences have been so incredibly different from others that it's hard to relate, but honestly, my time after David was so much harder. Jen wasn't living with us, so I didn't have on-going help; my mom had to go back home relatively soon, and David was born during Holy Week, so Tom was basically gone for those first tender, difficult moments. And of course, we had Zuzu. I forgot how very emotional I am postpartum - how sensitive and frightened I become. I need more emotional support than I realize - I need people to force me to relax and to speak truth to me that will calm my heart. But this time, I sprung back physically very quickly, and I think this gave many people false reassurances of my well-being.

Zuzu had a lovely Easter this year, which I'm sure she would've had anyway, even if I had stayed in bed and let other people cook. Instead, I cooked a leg of lamb and arranged an egg hunt, less than a week postpartum, because I am dumb.

So the problem is well documented. What is the solution? What can we, as people who value women, children, and birth, supposed to do to create a better culture of postpartum care?

First of all, care for the pregnant women in your life. If you have a friend who is pregnant, inquire about her postpartum plans and needs, who will help her, what her fears are. Then offer to help where you can: organize her meal train, collect money to hire her a housekeeper, or a postpartum doula. Maybe find her a mother's helper, a teenager or older child to come over and play with her other children, or do light house keeping.

As Kendra Tierney says, few things make having a baby easier than also having a ten year old girl. My nieces come to visit and more than earn their keep by entertaining Zuzu in all her toddler shenanigans.

Affirm keeping the postpartum time sacred. It is so easy to see what we value by what we compliment. "You look great - so skinny!" or "She's wonder woman, just had a baby and she's out here coaching the soccer team." Compliment women differently, and honestly - "we haven't seen you much since you had the baby - good for you for making time to adjust." Text these things to your new postpartum friend, write them in an email or better yet, a lovely hand written card she can tuck in the new one's baby book (that maybe you can buy for her, if she forgot!).

Fight the isolation with visits - and don't be a guest that makes work! So often I think women get out so quickly afterwards because they are lonely. They are at home with at least one small child, their husbands or other help must get back to work, their neighborhoods may be empty of any other mothers. After the flurry of activity that surrounds the new arrival, ask if she would like a visit. Yes, this can be hard - maybe you have to arrange childcare for your kids because they're sick or she's not comfortable with them around yet; your own life is busy with many demands. But make the sacrifice, show how important this new little soul is to the community, let this be a corporal work of mercy. Bring food, drink, and little comforts for her and baby. While you talk, be mindful of her - does she seem comfortable? does she have a drink? when did she last eat? does she need a shower? The visit will not do as much good if you do not use it to gauge her needs and either attend to them, or make arrangements for them to be tended to. You will not be a helpful guest if you are making her take care of you!

Jen's strategy when I was postpartum with Zuzu was just to always hold the baby so I could shower, sleep, eat, and cry unassisted. It was amazing.

Lastly, if you are a woman of child-bearing age, make room to allow care for yourself. That is, unlike what I did with David, ask for help and accept it graciously. It is good to make freezer meals, lovingly craft quiet books for the toddler to play with while you nurse, and all the rest. But let your community take care of you as well. It is a blessing to others, as well as for you.

When David's godmother had her third baby this past June, it was such a great blessing for me to care for her. The first few weeks she was well attended by her parents and in-laws, but after that calmed down, I arranged her meal train. In the interim period, I made her new daughter a name blanket and texted her at regular intervals (not too much!) to keep in touch. When we got the green light to visit, I made sure Zuzu knew not to touch the new baby, and brought them several dinners over a few weeks. I would come earlier in the day, and sit and talk with her, watching our babies stretch on their blankets, while the older kids played in another room or outside. I hope it was good for her, because it did such a great deal for me - to see her adjust to life with three kids, to hear her incredible birth story, to revel again in the gift of new life.

I truly believe that respect for the postpartum period will help women be the mothers that God is calling them to be. And that could not be more vital for our society since, as the old adage says, "the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world."

At least this little world. 

Making Room for Change

When we had Zuzu, I was pretty firmly in the 'crunchy' mom camp. I don't know how it happened - I'm really not a hippy. But since I knew I wanted to have a natural birth outside of a hospital, everything else came rushing in - like it was a package deal.

Natural birth -> breastfeeding -> bedsharing -> attachment parenting -> cloth diapering -> amber teething necklaces -> baby wearing

Happily, it really worked for us. That first year of Zuzu's life was great! Breastfeeding went well, she was a happy baby in adorable cloth diapers, and I loved wearing her. Great. Good.

But...after a year, some things started to wear on me. On our family. Overnight, she'd always leak out of her cloth diapers, so I was changing the sheets a lot. I had a ton of women telling me how to fix the diapers so it would work better, but...we just switched to disposables for overnight. Then, she was having some issues with diaper rash. When I went into my local crunchy mama store to ask for diaper creams that were ok to use with cloth diapers, the store's clerk first response was "oh wow, we really don't carry anything because babies who wear cloth diapers don't get diaper rash."

Oh wow, really - want to see my baby's bum?

It went on from there. We weren't getting a lot of sleep at night because my daughter liked to nurse all. night. long. I didn't get out a whole lot without her because I was the one who nursed her down for naps and bedtime, and she woke frequently to nurse. Sometimes it felt like she was a little TOO attached - it was hard leaving her with Tom, or my mom, or anyone. It was hard to parent her without using nursing as the main parenting tool. To be fair, I didn't want to get out much - I loved being with her all of the time. But I'm not sure it was really good for me - I wasn't taking care of my health,  cultivating a spiritual life, or investing in my friendships. My world was Zuzu and you know what the Bible says about idols.

All of this information about nursing, but I had no idea how to go about weaning, what age was okay to do so, or how to do without just doing it cold turkey.

It started to feel like attachment parenting or crunchy-ness or whatever - was this train that once you got on, you couldn't get off. It worked great when she was a tiny squish, but as she was getting to be an older toddler, I wasn't happy. The advice I got from that community was, try harder, override your gut feeling, ignore your own needs, don't be selfish.

I felt lost about how to run my family or my household sometimes, like I couldn't make certain decisions because it would hurt my child. I was so worried about hurting her by: weaning too soon, not letting her bedshare anymore, spanking, setting nursing limits, doing pretty much anything that made her cry (because letting/making your children cry makes you a monster, in some communities). I felt powerless.

And that's bollocks.

Parenting shouldn't feel like that. And if there's a parenting philosophy that is making you feel that way, it's probably not a good fit for you right now. If something worked when your child was young, but doesn't work now - you can stop. Right now! I'm giving you permission. If it worked for number one, but not number two? Cool, change it. Worked for numbers 1-4, but not 5? Change that too. I realized that I had put all these rules in place in my parenting, but hadn't made room for me to change my mind with experience. That's crazy! Experience will be the best teacher, always. I couldn't ignore the lessons I was learning and more frighteningly, if I stayed rigid, I realized I'd break.

I have another baby now. He hasn't ever slept a night in my bed. Sometimes I let him fuss in his pack and play, when I know he's really tired and not really hungry. He's 5 months old and we just started cloth diapering. I weaned Zuzu from night-nursing nine months ago and it's been GREAT. We've started talking about weaning after her third birthday and she seems cool with it, but even if she's not...I'm ready. And that can be a good reason to make a parenting choice too.

Grace for Mothering

Since I'm on a self-deprecating streak, I'll keep it going.

My immediate postpartum period was very difficult, as I've alluded to. Zuzu wanted to be picked up, she was constantly following me around the house begging, "hol' me! hol' me!" At first, it made me cry - she just wants to be held and I can't pick her up! Then I began to get frustrated - I just held you for an hour, sheesh. And two weeks ago, I just got mad. 

I was mad because all I could see was what I did for her, every day: made her meals, changed her diapers, spent time talking to her, cuddled her down for naps and bedtime, read to her while I nursed David. I knew we weren't getting as much one-on-one time as before, but hey, life wasn't so different. And she was being crazy whiny. I was hitting my breaking point - at one point, I even...yelled. 

At my low point, I was just angrily staring at her thinking, "what more could you POSSIBLY want from me??"

Deep breath.

 

We went on a short trip to Orlando last week to see my parents. On the drive I was mulling over my suddenly horrific relationship with my first-born, wondering where it all went wrong, and what exactly my angel-turned-demon child wanted from me. 

And then it hit me: she was telling me. She was telling me exactly what she needed and I was refusing to listen to her. She would say "hol' me" and I would say "not right now," since I was cleaning or cooking. She would say, "read to me!" and I would say "in a minute" because I was enjoying a few minutes of blog-reading while nursing David. She would ask "nurse me?" and I would say no, because it wasn't one of our standard nursing times before David came and I wanted her to be nursing less, not more. 

My list of priorities looked something like this: 

- David

- Tom

- household

-Zuzu

And she knew. Despite me doing so many things just as we had before, she knew I was doing them perfunctorily; I was rushing through activities to get to something else, doing them to pacify her. I was not relishing my time with her anymore - and she knew that. She was begging for more of me because I wasn't giving her any of me in the first place. 

I don't know how this happened or why, except that I'm human and concupiscence is real. In that moment, I realized I had to repent - and I did. I asked God to give me a heart for my daughter again; deep and overflowing love and compassion for her. I told Tom about all of this and we agreed we needed to be better - more self-donative, more giving, more aware of her meeting her emotional needs. 

toddler-aided selfies

We've been home for four days and she's been sick, so her neediness level has been way up. I can't say I've been perfect, but I'm definitely getting better. When I'm not better, I apologize - to my two-year-old, which is supremely humbling. Today, she kicked over a vase of flowers and scream/whined as I cleaned them up; I yelled at her. Immediately, I realized that although she wasn't right to do what she did, me having my own temper tantrum wasn't helping. I pulled her onto my lap, and said gently, I'm sorry I yelled at you. She nodded through her tears and whispered, I'm sorry I was naughty. I was startled; I hadn't asked for an apology. I forgive you, I said and she smiled up at me, I forgive you too. Then she fell asleep in my arms. 

And that's what grace looks like lately at my house.

Family love at DGO's baptism! 

29 Reasons My Mom is the Bomb

Happy Mother's Day, Ya'll! 

Of course, I wish this to all women who foster their motherhood in some unique way. But I especially wish it today to my own mother. She has been my mom for 29 Mother's Days, so, in honor of her, here are 29 reasons she is the bomb. 

Zuzu and I tell my mom a happy Mother's Day!

-1-

She shaved her head.

My mom shaved her head because she had always wanted to - at the age of 50. She had always wanted to try it...so she did. That's so gutsy. 

-2-

She converted.

My mom became a Catholic 4 years ago - well into adulthood, obviously! Prior to that, she endured a long wait to enter into the Church (2-3 years?) because of some annulment issues. She went to Mass, alone, for a long time - not knowing any of the responses or without any friends. Since I was Catholic too but lived several states away, I could not be there with her. When she felt the tug on her heart, she pursued it...by herself. I find that amazing. 

Mom and I, circa 2009 when she came into the Church!

-3-

She knows how to be a mom!

My mother stayed at home with my brother and I even though it entailed great sacrifice. It wasn't easy to stay at home when my dad was starting his business, and mom went without most of the times so that my brother and I could have what we needed - or just what we wanted. She knew that love meant sacrifice and she embraced that. What an amazing example! 

-4-

She went back to school.

My Mom wanted a college degree, but spent her early years having and raising babies. She always wanted to finish school, but when did she have time? or money? She felt called to teach more children, beyond her own brood, and wanted so much to do so. Well, in 2006, she graduated from the University of Central Florida with a BA in English Literature - one year before her youngest daughter graduated from college! She made that happen and is now an amazing 9th grade English teacher. 

-5-

She runs.

A lot of people wanna-be a lotta things, but they don't follow up. Achieving goals and dreams takes hard work more than luck or motivational posters, and hard work is hard to come by these days. Except for my mom. Once again, proving to herself she could do something, my mom has run two marathons over the age of 50 - including the Marine Corps Marathon in Washington D.C. 

My mom and my niece, Katie, after running the Reindeer Run

-6-

Her laugh! 

My mom has a great, no-holds-barred laugh. She laughs a lot. It's a real treat if you can make her do it. 

-7-

Childhood Christmases. 

I had an amazing childhood, and some of my best memories are from Christmastime. It always seemed like the air was full of magic - the house would be immaculately decorated, we'd have a huge tree, all the meals were special and delicious, served on elegant dishes. We even got to drink Martinelli's out of fancy glasses! She made my Christmas dresses and scrimped and saved so I could get just what I wanted - from Santa, of course. I'll never forget getting my American Girl dolls - which cost far too much, but she wanted me to have them. She made my doll a dress to match the Christmas dress she'd made me. I'm telling you - Christmas at my house was like NO OTHER. 

-8-

Birth is natural.

I have two older sisters and was blessed to be there to welcome several nieces and nephews into the world. I loved that my mom welcomed each grandchild with joy and encouraged my sisters to believe in their ability to birth children. From the time I was quite young, my mom talked about birth in a no-nonsense way; it's something that women can do, she insisted, and have been doing for centuries. Her business-like confidence meant that I grew up believing that my body was built to have children, and birth them naturally and easily. Long before I was married, I knew a great deal about childbirth and had witnessed several. This was such a gift to me! I never had to experience the fear that many moms encounter when they have only seen Hollywood representations of birth - screaming and rude language. I always regarded birth as a natural and sacred event, worthy of respect.

Whoooeeee looking ROUGH - and Zuzu looking like an ALIEN! But here we are, 7.5 hours later, with a healthy baby (in a bathtub!)

-9-

Push Me/Pull Me

My mom has this in spades. When I was younger, I was perplexed that my mother would critique my friends or offer to help me with a teacher that was being hard on me. I (almost?) always refused these requests for help, but found it weird she was even offering. 

Now I get it. After many years, several of the friends my mom was hard on revealed their true nature. And when I thought back over my childhood, I could see they were really just mean kids - and my mom knew that. She knew that. But she also knew she couldn't make my choices for me - there was this push me/pull me going on inside of her, wanting to protect me vs. wanting me to gain independence. It was hard to learn some lessons on my own, but it's made me a better judge of character in the long run. I'm much more cautious about who I consider a best friend; I can easily count them on one hand.

-10-

Marriage is Forever. 

One thing that is evident to most people who meet my parents for the first time is that they are madly in love! Which is great - nothing makes a child feel secure like knowing their parents are in love. 

But it wasn't always this way. My parents went through some very tough years when I was a young teenager, and those years persisted. They had to work through a lot of issues and they didn't get a lot of support; I think us kids were especially hard on mom, and urged her (frequently) to consider divorce. 

I am so glad she didn't. 

Their marriage today is so beautiful, such a testament to love and faithfulness! Fully united now since my dad became Catholic two years ago, they continue to model growth and renewal within the married vocation. That witness has made a great impact on me in my own vocation, so that even when my marriage is difficult, I remind myself that it is forever. 

Mom and Dad - so cute!

-11-

Modesty is not only a religious thing.

We were not raised in a Christian home, but that didn't mean we were not imbued with a sense of the importance of some virtues, including modesty. Since my mom approached it from a secular mindset, I appreciated as I grew up that dressing modestly was not something we 'had' to do, but it was a classy choice, made with an eye towards respecting oneself. Clothes communicate to others how you should be treated and how you view yourself. As my mom drolly remarked once when I came downstairs in a risque outfit, "if you want to dress like a whore, don't be surprised when you're treated like one." 

(thanks, Mom. I changed my outfit)

-12-

You can do it! 

I know all moms believe in their kids, but man, my mom put her money where her mouth was. I don't think she thought her youngest would take her so seriously when she said, you can do anything, because...well, I did a lot. Every single idea in my head (I'm going to school out of state! to study history! now study abroad! creative writing! now grad school! theology! now law school!) my mom went along for the ride, counseling wisely but encouraging too. She and my dad always found ways to send me money to help fund my latest educational adventure...and I like to think it paid off. 

Mom and Dad, dancing at my wedding!

-13-

Parents are not your friends. 

If there's one thing my mom hates, it's the concept that parents are friends. My mom emphatically told me growing up, "I am not your friend. I am your mother." This was a liberating concept, because the relationship of a mother and daughter is far stronger than a friendship; it gives my mom and I the freedom to fight and disagree, to say the really hard things to one another. For, although you can stop being friends with someone, you can't just stop having a mom! It makes my relationship with my mom balanced; she is not there to make me feel good about myself - she is constantly guiding and mothering me. For that I am grateful. 

She might say she's not my friend...but she is.

-14-

Messing with your hair too much usually makes you look stupid.

My mom did not let me cut or dye my hair until I left her house. Okay...slight exaggeration. I was allowed to cut my hair when I got a bit older, but she never approved. Actually, she still doesn't like it when I cut my hair...but anyway. She made a valiant stand against me looking like an idiot for much of my high school life, and let me embrace my natural hair color. I am very glad I didn't spend my early teens frying my hair into blonde submission, as I may have been wont to do. 

-15-

No bull. 

My mom doesn't pull punches and she doesn't like small talk. She says what she means, and she is working on making her blunt manner a little less, ah, painful. Although sometimes hard to hear, I appreciate it now because it's rubbed off a lot. One of the most frequent compliments I get is that people like that I am a straight shooter; no bull, no frills. Ask an honest question get an honest answer. It's a quality that is harder and harder to find.

-16-

High standards. 

I wasn't allowed to use 'like' as a filler. I couldn't half-ass a book report. I wasn't allowed to read the Boxcar Kids any more when I was capable of reading Shakespeare. My mom had high standards for me - standards many parents might classify as 'too demanding' or 'over the top'. But she knew me. She knew I would get lazy academically, that I would let myself be less than I could be. And she wasn't going to let it happen on her watch! 

My standards are so high, I could only have married Mr. O.

-17-

Kindness counts.

I was pretty naturally empathetic as a child, but I went to school with a lot of entitled, bratty, rich kids. My mom made sure I knew that she would not allow any child of hers to become rude and unkind. Kindness mattered to my mom; treating people with dignity and respect was an integral part of her personality. My mom always gives people the benefit of the doubt, and has a real Southern charm about her kindness to others. I love that about her.

-18-

Don't be a silly girl. 

This, of course, did not apply to toddlers - but to me as I became a young woman. My mother abhors young women who act like idiots when they are clearly bright and capable. So she did NOT put up with any of this trait in me. If I got hysterical over a bug or put on airs, oh man, I felt the sting of my mother's condemnation! 'Stop that,' she'd snap at me 'you're acting ridiculous.' Does it sound harsh? It was. And I am so glad. I have an ability to control how I react to things, I am generally calm and in charge of my emotions. I like that.

-19-

Your body is nothing to be ashamed of.

My parents being hippies, they were a bit libertine about my sex education. But the greatest take-away from all this was that my body was good. My mom was not shocked by me walking around naked as a toddler...or a school-aged girl. There was no hurry to cover me up because oh my gosh, I was naked! She would tell me to put clothes on, but it was never in a tone that was disapproving - it was brusque and matter-of-fact, the perfect way to deal with children. In talking to me about sex, my mom was honest and forthright. 

Loving my body - by playing rugby. 

-20-

This is none of your business. 

When I got older I realized that my mom's hair was not actually jet black and curly...shocker! She had been perming and dying it for years. I had no clue. When I asked her why she never mentioned that she got her hair done, she replied simply "it wasn't any of your business." At first I thought that was so rude - why wasn't it my business?? But now I look at it and see how great it was that my mom had boundaries. My mom did not feel the need to lay bare her entire life and justify it to me, her child. That was not part of being a mom to me. And now being a mom...I get that. There are parts of my life that just aren't any of my child's business! 

-21-

The home is important.

I know that might sound like a 'duh', but it seems that for a lot of families today home is just a place to sleep. It's a stop-over between sports and parties and dance and school. Home is not a place that anyone wants to be. But it was for me as a child. My mom put so much work into our home, and it made such an impression on me. Our home was warm and cozy, filled with good books and nice little corners to read them in. We spent time there, together, as a family, doing family things - games, dinner, reading stories, talking. Our home was not just another place; it was THE place, the touchstone of our family. I loved our home, and so did most of my friends. 

Grad school dinner table, filled with roommates and friends

-22-

Food is love.

I loved coming home from college because my mom would stock the house with everything she knew I loved. She would make the dinners she knew I enjoyed or take me out to eat. When it was my birthday, she'd make a big deal about me choosing the meal and getting all the things I liked. Food...food is such a wonderful way of caring for people. To feed them - such a Eucharistic way of love! Mom understood that deeply and her meals over the years have communicated her deep love for her family.

-23-

Don't get a dog if you can't care for the dog.

I know this sounds weird but I know a lot of people who get a pet, decide 'whoops! not for us!', and back to the pound the poor pet goes. That really ticks my mom off. When I was going to get Blackacre, she was really upset because she insisted that if I get a dog, that's it - that's a responsibility like a baby, she said (which I laughed about at the time, but I now I see she's totally right). She insisted that I treat animals fairly, and that's something I look for in people - the way they treat animals. It says something about a person, the way they treat a being smaller than they are, one who relies on them for all their needs. 

Blackacre, who went as a rugby player for his first Halloween in my house

-24-

Education of children is the parent's responsibility.

Man were my parents dedicated to my education. DEDICATED. They sent us to private school even though they really couldn't afford it, then when they couldn't find a school good enough they founded one with other parents! Private, public, parochial, homeschool - my mom was not afraid to try anything to see what would be the best education for me. She took responsibility; my education was her priority. She didn't just put me in a school and hope it worked out, wait another year, see if the next teacher is better - she was very proactive and made changes if it appeared it wasn't working. 

Obviously it worked. I love learning. 

Dad, me, and Mom at my graduation from Marymount

-25-

Your choices determine who you are.

My mom emphasized to me over and over again that we are who we choose to be. That emphasis on free will and self-determination helped me to realize when I had made a mistake, that I could choose better next time. It's led to a self-improvement streak a mile wide, but one that I am very grateful for. I never have any doubt that even if I am not the woman I want to be, I can get there - one choice at a time. 

-26-

Makeup is best subtle.

I don't remember my mom wearing make up, except for lipstick (always a shade of red/red-brown). But when she did, it looked so...natural. It was so very becoming, but never overdone. It gave me the courage to enjoy being 'made-up,' but to never feel naked without it. And now when I see young women - very young women! - walking around with makeup slathered on looking like clowns, I am so grateful that my mom limited my make up use as a girl...thereby protecting me from some truly embarrassing pictures later on.

-27-

Apologize.

My mom messes up a lot because she's really blunt and doesn't have a lot of diplomacy (sorry Mom; that's what you have Dad for). So she apologizes. This is a recent thing, I might add, but it's really beautiful to see. It's easy to be stubborn in relationships where we are older and more experienced, but my mom's example has taught me a lot about humility and being willing to own my mistakes.

-28-

Children are gifts.

My mom loves kids. Not unlike me, she seems to like children more than adults. She delights in every age and stage, although she claims her favorite is toddlerhood (who says that??). My mom is so good to affirm women who are having babies, especially my sisters and I, and to affirm that every child is a wonderful thing, even when the circumstances of their conception or birth were less than ideal. 

Grandkids!

-29-

You are a good mom.

I am lucky to have many positive people in my life, but my biggest cheerleader is my mom. And that really hit home when I became a mom, seven whole months ago! The one thing my mom told me was that I was a good mom, and I had to trust my instincts. She has reiterated that over and over again to me, every time I call for advice (which...is a lot). She'll give me advice and then add "but I'm not the expert on Zuzu - you are. You're her mom. Trust yourself." Her confidence and obvious pride in my mothering helps me to relax and mother however I feel like. 

I could go on and on, but I'll stop here (reluctantly). My mom is the best mom (for me, as Amelia points out in her great post). God knew what he was doing when he sent me to her and I am so grateful to have her in my life still, to keep guiding and mothering me as I find my own way. 

I love you, Mama. I always have and I always will.