I feel like February 8th is a good day… for lots of reasons. I happen to really like February as far as months go, the number 8 is an even number (and I am a fan of even numbers), it happens to be a Wednesday today which means I’m halfway through the week… but more importantly, my mom was born on February 8th! So I thought I would talk a little bit about my Mom. I may have grown up a bit since preschool, but I think this picture is a pretty accurate representation of my relationship with my mom, and I don’t see that changing any time soon.
Me and Mom at preschool
My mom is someone who I can’t sit with for more than a couple minutes without laughing hysterically. And when she’s lost in the store (well, when I can’t find her…), I sit still for a little bit until I can hear her laughing a few aisles away. And she’s never alone in her laughter. She just brings everyone around her with her into her own wonderland where all the worries melt away for a few minutes while she’s around.
I got up really early a couple times this last Christmas break to have coffee with her (she usually gets up around 4:30-5:00am), and we always just had the greatest talks. I can tell my mom anything, and I’ve always been able to. I know a lot of people who don’t talk to their parents about anything important or feel like they couldn’t be honest even if they wanted to. I definitely don’t have a problem… if anything, perhaps I am able to tell my mom too much! But I always knew that, even if I sometimes forgot momentarily if I thought I had crossed too great a line or committed too great a transgression, I could count on my mom to make things better. And if she couldn’t make things better, she could always talk me out of the dark holes I sometimes feel I am stuck in. If anything, I always feel better after talking to her.
I called her last week around 2:30am after I had some pretty rough stuff happened, and she talked with me for an hour. She later told me that she didn’t go back to sleep, but just sat there praying for me until it was time to get up. That’s the mom I have–one who gives us sleep and prays for hours if her boy is feeling like things are hard and worried things might never go right. And while she prayed, I was able to fall asleep immediately because I knew, after talking to her, that things really were going to be okay after all.
My mom is a loud, crazy Italian (and those of you who either know, are, or belong to a loud crazy Italian, you know they are awesome to be around), and she’s one of the main reasons I gesture like a maniac, talk and laugh way louder in public than most people, and don’t have a very developed sense of personal space. Being Italian, she sings a lot, hugs everyone she comes in contact with, cooks better than most people I know, gets really quiet if you hold hand hands still (since she can’t gesture), and cries at the drop of a hat (sad or otherwise).
A few of my friends got to meet her recently and they all said that, once they saw her, I made perfect sense. Seeing us together, even for just a brief time, made them all really happy, and they were able to see where some of my crazy (and some of my big love) comes from.
I love my mom with just about everything I’ve got. And that’s not to say that we get along perfectly all the time (more often than not because I am being short tempered or selfish) or that we never fight. But, whether we are in a fight or not, I still talk to her 2 or 3 times most days. And while some people would say that they would never want their mom so involved in their lives–they need their personal space–I definitely wouldn’t trade my relationship with her for the world. And I don’t particularly find it bothersome to be completely honest that I am a momma’s boy. Does that make me weak? Does that mean I don’t know how to do anything on my own? Does that mean I’m spoiled? Weak…no. Incapable of doing things on my own…no. Spoiled…okay, maybe a little bit. What it definitely means is this–I love my mom, I value our relationship enough to talk to her regularly (to the point that my day feels strange if I haven’t heard from her or called her myself), and that my relationship with her is more important to me today than it was yesterday and it will be even more important tomorrow.
My mom has demonstrated to me so many things. Perfection? No, definitely not. She isn’t perfect and neither is anyone else (even me…though she might even try to argue with you about that). But she has taught me what it means to sacrifice, what it means to love people a lot more than they deserve, what it means to continually put one foot in front of the other, and to do everything with a laugh and the little twinkle in her eye that I know so well.
This only scratches the surface of who she is and what she means to me. Though I didn’t get the chance to choose her (as no child ever does), if I ever had the chance to choose someone else, I know that I wouldn’t even consider it for a second. She loves me better than anyone I know, has patience with me when I don’t even have patience for myself, makes me laugh and see the good in life and people at times when I don’t feel like happiness or goodness exists, and I am more proud to call her my mom than anything else in my life.
I love you, mom! Happy birthday!
Your sidekick,
David
