I apologize for my brief absent, the blog broke the laptop again so I’ve succumbed to the iPad and the typing is slower.
Today was my very first Mother’s Day with Lil Bit that I have not been in graduate school. It was also wonderful. Our day at the beach was perfect, but quel surprisethis post is not about me, Moose, or even my darling girl. This post is about the Queen Bee a.k.a. my mom.
Queen Bee is the middle child of five sisters and as a child of a mixed
family, is in actuality, one of 10! She is very headstrong, fiercely protective of my sister and I (understandably so, as I’m a fertility baby and she lost 2 in between my sister and I). My dad is her childhood sweetheart and although they fight and bicker at times, it’s clear they still love each other.
My mom has always been the type of mom to feed the neighborhood, bake cookies for the class, decorate and prepare for parties. She is very good at it and anything her loving hands touch is typically tantalizing to your taste buds. She’s never been a thin woman but has always been beautiful. She takes good care of herself but is not high-maintenance. She loves Christmas and it’s her favorite holiday. She has a very hot temper. I really could continue one for ages about her but I’d rather share a memory.
When I was in middle school there was a teacher in gym who we all liked. She was a middle-aged woman and tended to be very familiar, like a much older sister. However something changed as the year went on, she became snappy and impatience with our class. One class we were playing volleyball and I made a comment about someone not playing correctly or keeping score correctly. Keep in mind I’m at the age in this story where I’m a highly emotional young girl 12 or 13, to be accurate. The coach turned to the girl next to her and said, “Kim’s being awful bitchy today, she must be PMSing.”
I realize now it was not meant to be hateful, an older ladies attempt at trying to be “one of the girls” but at the time I was shocked and hurt. I had never been called THAT, especially by a teacher or even an adult. I shrank back for the remainder of the class. The bell rang and. I was mercifully able to steal away to the locker room to hide my hurt feelings. Shortly afterwards, school ended and I climbed into the car with my mom. She immediately knew something was up. I mumbled a brief synopsis. My mom, who by the way, worked at the same school, threw the car in park unbuckled her seat belt and stormed off into the school. She came back about 15 minutes later, huffing and red-faced. I had come face to face with the Queen Bee’s temper before and breathed quick, reluctant breaths as I awaited her return, knowingly fearful.
Turns out my mom had went in the school, told the coach off, demanded I be pulled aside and apologized tomorrow, all while risking her job to ensure that a wrong against her child was corrected. BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT MOMS DO. At the time I did not fully understand that as far as my mom was concerned, she could find another job, she could NOT, however, take back that moment to be a champion for her child. Dads are wonderful, and they have their own day to celebrate them. Moms, we put the child first, rather it be before careers, hobbies, a piece of candy, a hair appointment or in this case an unprofessional coworker (and not just because of genetics either, college Scientific psychology professor–misogynistic swine)
Now that I am a mother, I GET this. Someone can tell a childless woman this and she can think she understands, she can nod her head knowingly but she will never fully know. I cannot remember where I read this, could have been Pinterest but it was something to the effect of, “a mother is the only one who knows what it feels to have her heart walking around outside of her chest” and it’s true. So to all the mom’s out there Happy Mother’s Day (now belated because this post was posted late).