102.5 is a scary number for a new parent. Especially when that number is followed by the word degrees and is flashing off of the thermometer attached to your child.
It was 2:30am.
I was not new to 2:30am. In fact, I'd venture to say that 2:30 and I were actually quite close. We were never friends - this wasn't a mutually beneficial relationship - but we'd been through a lot together and for some reason, it just kept poking its head in my business. Sometimes, 2:30 meant frustration, a loud sigh....it almost always meant exhaustion.
But this time, 2:30am didn't mean tired. It meant wide-awake, a little nervous...it meant action. My baby was burning up and, even though I didn't know what to do, I was willing and ready to do anything. All I could think of was his brains frying out. Then he started to get a little shakey, and I did the only thing I could think of in that moment:
I called my mom.
Three rings in, and she answered, not a tired crease in her voice. She, too, was ready for action. Cool washcloth, a lukewarm bath, more Tylenol, take his jammies off. She had answers, and I was surprised to find I calmly followed orders. His fever came down, and eventually he slept again.
This was not the first time I've woken my mom up in the middle of the night, a choke in my throat or a question on my mind. She's never once complained, and I know she never will. This phone call has become one of several "Stick Out" Memories I have of my mother. You know what I mean, those moments that you know will be the ones that stick out to you when you think back over the years. I want to share a few more of my Stick Out Memories of my mom.
- I was always baking when I was a kid. I'd try recipe after recipe, making everyone in my family sample them. I swear I ruined more batches of cookies than I saved, and rather than complaining that I was wasting eggs or flour, my mom encouraged me to pursue my hobby. I don't know why this sticks out to me, I just think of all the different responses she could have had to my many burnt batches of cookies, my melted-butter disasters, my salty-rock cakes - and yet she chose to find joy in my joy.
- Junior Mints after getting shots at the doctor's
- Lion King folders for my first day of kindergarten
- Working in her huge garden in the evenings after dinner, pulling weeds (or watching her pull weeds while I played in the yard), and watering the plants
- When I was about 10, I started developing really bad psoriasis (auto-immune deficiency skin disorder). It's itchy and ugly, and I was getting it everywhere. I had to go to dermatologist appointments several times a month, and because I had it, well, everywhere, I had to undress in front of the doctor. This made me so uncomfortable, and I would almost always start to tear up. My mom was always right there with me, holding my hand, and making me feel brave. Afterwards we would go to lunch at a buffet, and take a long walk in the park and just talk about anything.
- I remember meeting up with my Mom for lunch one day in high school, just days after I broke off a two-year relationship with a boy. I was absolutely cruuuushed. I could hardly go through the day without breaking down and sobbing every hour. I was barely making it through lunch with her and I just remember saying, "Mom, I don't know how I'm going to do this. I don't know how I'm going to get through it, how I'm going to just keep pushing forward." Her answer wasn't complicated or profound, but it was honest.
"It just takes time." She also introduced me to this song, and I will always think of her whenever I hear it.
- We used to go on day trips to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. We would crank JoDee Messina and Avril Lavigne and we'd hold hands and sing out loud, the windows down and the wind rushing through our hair.
- I got into two different fender benders in high school. My license was new and money was tight, so I cried when I told her I had backed into our neighbor's truck. My news was not met with a sigh or frustration, but with only one question: Are you okay?
"Yes, Mom, I'm fine but it's going to cost money - "
"Money is money," she'd interrupt. "I don't care about that. I only care that you are okay. We will deal with the rest later."
I hope I can remember this example if/when any of my children come to me with a torn-off front bumper.
- My senior year of high school I was in a selfish and obsessive relationship in the way only high-schoolers can be. My boyfriend had invited me to spend Mother's Day weekend with his family at a cabin. I begged and begged and begged my mom to let me go, rationalizing that we could celebrate Mother's Day early or a day late, I would take her to lunch or to get a facial or something - anything! Please just let me go! My mom put up a valiant fight, she put her foot down more than once, she raised her voice, she threatened, but still I pestered. My boyfriend told me, "Well my mom would let me go if it were me because she cares more about my happiness than her own."
But that was not my Mom's point.
Eventually, I wore her down. I went away that weekend and it wasn't long after that I severely regretted it. We did go to lunch together, but I knew it wasn't the same. I had already broken her heart. My mom taught me something that I didn't realize then but I do now: she was teaching me the importance of Mother's Day.
Oh, and guess what else? She forgave me. She always does. That's another lesson I learned from her.
- Teaching me how to curl my hair
- Waxing me instead of making me shave or pluck.
- My mom cut and dyed my hair all throughout high school for me. She put up with midnight requests and slaughtered box-dyes, a teenage girl's finicky "must-haves."
- Driving 6 hours to hear me give my Girl's State speech as governor two years in a row.
- Flying to Hawaii to drop me off at college, and then back again to see me graduate.
It was 2:30am.
I was not new to 2:30am. In fact, I'd venture to say that 2:30 and I were actually quite close. We were never friends - this wasn't a mutually beneficial relationship - but we'd been through a lot together and for some reason, it just kept poking its head in my business. Sometimes, 2:30 meant frustration, a loud sigh....it almost always meant exhaustion.
But this time, 2:30am didn't mean tired. It meant wide-awake, a little nervous...it meant action. My baby was burning up and, even though I didn't know what to do, I was willing and ready to do anything. All I could think of was his brains frying out. Then he started to get a little shakey, and I did the only thing I could think of in that moment:
I called my mom.
Three rings in, and she answered, not a tired crease in her voice. She, too, was ready for action. Cool washcloth, a lukewarm bath, more Tylenol, take his jammies off. She had answers, and I was surprised to find I calmly followed orders. His fever came down, and eventually he slept again.
This was not the first time I've woken my mom up in the middle of the night, a choke in my throat or a question on my mind. She's never once complained, and I know she never will. This phone call has become one of several "Stick Out" Memories I have of my mother. You know what I mean, those moments that you know will be the ones that stick out to you when you think back over the years. I want to share a few more of my Stick Out Memories of my mom.
- I was always baking when I was a kid. I'd try recipe after recipe, making everyone in my family sample them. I swear I ruined more batches of cookies than I saved, and rather than complaining that I was wasting eggs or flour, my mom encouraged me to pursue my hobby. I don't know why this sticks out to me, I just think of all the different responses she could have had to my many burnt batches of cookies, my melted-butter disasters, my salty-rock cakes - and yet she chose to find joy in my joy.
- Junior Mints after getting shots at the doctor's
- Lion King folders for my first day of kindergarten
- Working in her huge garden in the evenings after dinner, pulling weeds (or watching her pull weeds while I played in the yard), and watering the plants
- When I was about 10, I started developing really bad psoriasis (auto-immune deficiency skin disorder). It's itchy and ugly, and I was getting it everywhere. I had to go to dermatologist appointments several times a month, and because I had it, well, everywhere, I had to undress in front of the doctor. This made me so uncomfortable, and I would almost always start to tear up. My mom was always right there with me, holding my hand, and making me feel brave. Afterwards we would go to lunch at a buffet, and take a long walk in the park and just talk about anything.
- I remember meeting up with my Mom for lunch one day in high school, just days after I broke off a two-year relationship with a boy. I was absolutely cruuuushed. I could hardly go through the day without breaking down and sobbing every hour. I was barely making it through lunch with her and I just remember saying, "Mom, I don't know how I'm going to do this. I don't know how I'm going to get through it, how I'm going to just keep pushing forward." Her answer wasn't complicated or profound, but it was honest.
"It just takes time." She also introduced me to this song, and I will always think of her whenever I hear it.
- We used to go on day trips to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. We would crank JoDee Messina and Avril Lavigne and we'd hold hands and sing out loud, the windows down and the wind rushing through our hair.
- I got into two different fender benders in high school. My license was new and money was tight, so I cried when I told her I had backed into our neighbor's truck. My news was not met with a sigh or frustration, but with only one question: Are you okay?
"Yes, Mom, I'm fine but it's going to cost money - "
"Money is money," she'd interrupt. "I don't care about that. I only care that you are okay. We will deal with the rest later."
I hope I can remember this example if/when any of my children come to me with a torn-off front bumper.
 |
| High school graduation |
But that was not my Mom's point.
Eventually, I wore her down. I went away that weekend and it wasn't long after that I severely regretted it. We did go to lunch together, but I knew it wasn't the same. I had already broken her heart. My mom taught me something that I didn't realize then but I do now: she was teaching me the importance of Mother's Day.
Oh, and guess what else? She forgave me. She always does. That's another lesson I learned from her.
 |
| Seminary graduation |
- Teaching me how to curl my hair
 |
| Junior Prom |
- My mom cut and dyed my hair all throughout high school for me. She put up with midnight requests and slaughtered box-dyes, a teenage girl's finicky "must-haves."
- Driving 6 hours to hear me give my Girl's State speech as governor two years in a row.
 |
| College graduation |
 |
| 3 Generations |
 |
| Summer 2009 |
 |
| My wedding (duh?) |
My mother has been my mother for 23 years now. She's led and guided me through toddler years, awkward pre-teen years, heartbreaking high school years, on-my-own college years, newlywed years, and she hasn't left my side since I've become a mother myself. Now, she is something even more special than being my mom: She is the grandmother to my son.
I think this is one of the most precious gifts she could have ever given me, in addition to all of the life lessons she's shared with me, through word and example. This woman has not had an easy life, and yet she is one of the most loving and sincere people you will ever meet. I love my mom and am so blessed to learn so much from her.
Crying and crying. Oh your writing is so so beautiful. Love this and love you! What would we do without moms? We ARE moms!
ReplyDeleteThis makes me want to be a mom even more...and it makes me want to call my mom. :)
ReplyDeleteI agree with collette charles. I have no idea who she is but I agree with her every word. I love your writing! It is so real. One day maybe I will learn how to be my self completely on my blog and not care if it will sound right to other people.
ReplyDelete