Mom

Books are written, movies are made, and stories are told--all the time--about women and their mothers. Think "Terms of Endearment," or "Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood." Mothers and daughters, struggling to understand each other, and sometimes even struggling to be civil.

I'm incredibly lucky in that regard. My mom is one of my best friends.

Oh, we have our moments. The generational gap can be quite wide at times, but we've come to a place where we agree that she grew up in one time, and I grew up in another. Times have changed, and my world view is, of course, going to reflect that. I know I sometimes puzzle her...but to her credit, she loves me just as I am.

Bratty moments and all.

I roll my eyes when she tells me to wear lipstick and earrings. I made up a mocking song-and-dance routine to her favorite quote ("Remember, the one thing you can count on in life is change, Megan."). I sigh heavily and tap my foot impatiently at JoAnne's when I'm ready to go and she needs a few more minutes in the yarn aisle.

Let's face it--when I'm feeling cranky, she's the first person I take it out on. When I'm sad, she's the first person I cry to. When I'm confused, she's the first person I ask questions of. She's remarkably awesome at soothing the bratty beast, comforting the wounded soul, and answering the questions as best she can. But it takes a toll.

Mom is the quintessential Mama Bear. A former friend who was nasty to me in my junior year of college (1998, people) is still regarded with disdain and disgust. I've moved on, and even forgiven the person, but Mom will never forget how much I was hurting at that time, how much she worried about me, and her wounds still run deep.

And Mom is a rock. She doesn't realize how strong she is, but so much of what I've learned about dealing with change and the hard things in life is because of her. She was a military wife in a time of war, a single parent for all intents and purposes, while Dad did his job. She did this far away from her family, with only the support received from other Air Force wives. Long-distance phone calls were not as cheap as they are today, and she didn't have email. Could I have survived in England without daily emails to my parents? Hardly--but Mom survived Texas, Nebraska and Spain, taking care of her babies (human, canine and feline) and keeping the home fires burning.

She raised a boy who had his own difficulties and an accident-prone little girl. She potty-trained a hyperactive collie puppy and packed up the house for yet another move many, many times. She had a miscarriage and a period of time when she geared herself up to feel blessed to have one child. She calls me her "miracle child" because I came after so much heartache--the miracle here is that I was lucky enough to be born to her.

See? She's a rock star.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I love you so very much.