The Sisterhood

Yesterday, I became a lifetime member of an exclusive sisterhood. 

Don’t be jealous. 

Joining this sisterhood is not like joining a sorority where you’re bonded together by a common goal and a mission statement. 

It’s not as glamorous as becoming a member of an exclusive country club. 

Unfortunately it’s not even as beneficial as belonging to SAM’s or Costco club. 

I don’t know of anyone who anxiously waited to join the ranks. 

No one is sitting around contemplating what to wear to the nonexistent induction ceremony. 

There’s no welcome party or monthly meetings. 

This sisterhood is composed of girls and women who have lost their mom’s. 

The ones who no longer have that earthly  representation, in human form, of life that gave them life. 

I didn’t want to be a member. I never signed on the dotted line. 

But now I’m here. 

It’s official. 

I am now a lifetime member of this exclusive club. 

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What is a mom?

The answer to the question depends on who you ask. The answer is created in the mind and woven in the heart and is based upon perception, experience, comparisons, actions and words. When we hear the word mom some want to bow down and worship and others begin to cry for the heartache the word envokes. 

What is a mom? It could be the person who birthed you or it could be the person who paid thousands of dollars, jumped through legal hoops, answered the social study questions correctly and attended parenting classes before bringing you home. It could also be the one who agreed to take you when you were abandoned and had no place to go. 

A mom is not defined by activities such as homemade cookies, homeschooler, biggest fan, protector, supporter, chef, chauffeur, admirer, worshiper, or spoiler.

So, what is a mom? She’s you, she’s me, she’s a coworker, she’s a friend, she’s your neighbor, a teacher, a bus driver, a clerk, an addict, a CEO, a homeless person, broken, healed, she’s any female and she’s imperfect. 

She shaped you and molded you in action or lack thereof. She’s a person not a goddess. She’s real not imagined. She has hurts and challenges. She has triumphs and victories. 

Well, what is a mom? She the person you choose to honor one day a year. 

Ode to My Honeygirl

Tomorrow she turns 12. It doesn’t seem that long ago that the teenager and I were at reading time when I went into labor. I waited until it was over, got him buckled in the van, gave him some graham crackers and a drink then I called my doctor. Thirteen hours of labor later, she was born. It was around 1am.

I was tired and hungry, how did they expect a pregnant woman to survive so many hours on ice chips? I looked over at her held her for a moment to count all of her fingers and toes (why do we do that?) and give her a quick snuggle then handed her to her dad then asked the nurse to please give me something to eat. It’s the middle of the night in the hospital and the cafeteria was closed so I had to settle for graham crackers, peanut butter and grape juice but I digress.

She had to go to the NICU because she swallowed meconium during her slow trip down the canal. A short time later, I walked down to see her and hold her. I looked in her eyes and realized the five and a half months of being sick, laying on my couch in the dark and not being able to eat anything other than mashed potatoes with gravy and a biscuit were not worth the trauma (just kidding…maybe).

She has grown into a vivacious, quick-witted, artsy, loving, don’t get in my space unless invited, long story telling (detailed oriented?) intelligent, perceptive young lady. I constantly remind her that she is, by far, my favorite daughter. She’s everything I could ask for in a daughter plus a couple of other things that I never would have asked for but apparently need in order to balance our lives. She walks slow, taking in her surroundings, picking up flower and admiring rocks. She has always had a thing for rocks. Her eyes would light up and she would get excited and almost giddy if the rock was shiny. She has an extensive collection of rocks. She will pull one out periodically to admire its shape, color and luster.

When she was a baby, I would sing these words to her, “You are so beautiful to me. You’re everything I hoped for; you’re everything I need. You are so beautiful to (mommy)…” – Ray Charles

I am glad to have been chosen to be her mom.

Happy Birthday to you my dear sweet Honeygirl. I love you!