Monday, May 11, 2009

A Tribute To Moms

This should have been posted yesterday, but my weekend was nuts, so I am late getting it done. Better late than never, I guess. By the way, just so everyone knows, my "kids" Brutus, Cosette, Splat, and Sebastian didn't to one thing for me on Mother's Day. Ok, so they're just three cats and a dog...still.
In the photo are my Gramma, little sister Noelle, and my Mom hanging out at a Mother's Day cookout at my brother's house.
It would be impossible to laud my mother without commenting on her mom, my Gramma, Dorothy Rose Kelly-Bird, who turned 89 this year and is, sadly, in bad health.
My Gramma grew up during the depression and because of that childhood experience, is the first save and reuse, recycle, organic woman I knew. Bits of string, fabric, paper, glass jars, plasitc flatware, you name it she saved it. I used to think it was nuts, saving all those little plastic katchup thingys from fast food joints, or the styrofoam tray that comes with the steaks and the chicken from the grocery store. That is, until recently, when I find myself doing the same thing. "HEY! Don't throw that away!" "What? It's only the string from the horse feed bag!" Yep - that's me, channeling Gramma. I even dig things out of the trash after Kevin has tossed them, if he is not looking. My little sister and I hung out with Gramma a lot when I was a little girl, doing crafts and art, having little tea parties, wearing the dresses she made for us from a lacy vintage dress she found at a thrift store; playing in the sandbox. "DON'T get in that sandbox until I clean out the CAT POOP!" She'd instruct us. I thought my heart would break when Gramma moved back to Florida to take care of her mom, my Great Gramma. The morning that she left in her laden down yellow Volkswagen Beetle, I ran to the neighbor's horse barn and cried into the mane of her horse for an hour. He seemed to get it. Gramma moved back twelve years ago, when her health went downhill.
My mom didn't have an easy time raising us 7 kids. She stayed at home to raise and homeschool us, so my dad's income had to stretch a lot of ways, but we were happy. Mom is a great seamstress and sewed me countless dresses and play costumes, ball gowns and things. She was my greatest supporter when it came to my Horse Indoustry and Riding Instructor Career, and always advised me to perservere and endure. She was at almost all my horse shows, concerts and recitals.
She taught me cooking arts; oh how I used to love to watch as she frosted birthday cakes, made her famous Christmas doughnuts, and her chunky spaghetti sauce. Mom taught me how to drive, how to embroider, and made me stick to my piano lessons. She was there for me when I had a horrible horse related accident; driving me to the hospitial, riding with me in the ambulance, held my hand during my surgery, and was with me for every Dr. and Surgeon appointment afteroword.
My mom is my diet and health guru, and I ask her advice before I take any vitamins, herbs, or drugs. My mom isn't perfict, but my mom rocks.
I laughed my heart out last evening when I had this talk with my 4-year old niece, Alana, about Mother's Day:
"....... it's a birffday," She suggested.
"It's like a birthday, but only for mommies," I said.
Later, as I was cleaning up the dinner mess:
"Hoseyanna, whatcha doin?"
"Cleaning up the mess so your mom doesn't have to," I explained.
"Beycuss it's Muffer's Day!"
"Yep, it's Mother's Day!"
"I wannit to be Alana day."
"Nope, Mother's Day."
"Alana Day."
"Alana Day is later this summer."
She scampered off grinning. Happy Muffer's Day, all you Muffers!!
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