This is going to be another 'wanna know how awesome my mom was?' post.
I was going to rant about what bullshit it is to say that birth order plays a gigantic role in who you are but I decided not to ramble. (Long story short: the oldest is supposed to be the most intelligent and the perfectionist but if school work is any indication, my oldest brother at the very least isn't a perfectionist; the middle child is supposed to be the peacemaker but my other brother couldn't care less about solving fights and problems; and the youngest [me] is supposed to be the rebel, in which case I am such a rebel that I'm going to school and trying to do well to please my family--James Dean better watch his back!)
Instead I decided I haven't done one of those 'wanna know how awesome my mom was?' posts in awhile. I feel guilty because when the therapist asked me to tell him about my childhood and the things my mom and I used to do together, all I could think of was the last two years, especially the last two months.
Every day after she couldn't work anymore, I'd haul my ass out of bed around noon because I'm a horrible daughter (and, well, someone had to be up in case Mom needed anything because Dad needed to sleep) and make us some lunch while she watched some Food Network. Every day at 2 we would watch Rachael Ray's talk show because Mom and I loved Rachael Ray.
When Mom was strong enough, when Dad got home from work we'd all go out somewhere, like just to the store or maybe to get a coffee. Those times didn't last very long after she stopped being able to work and get chemo. She was so strong, but in the end there wasn't anything anyone could do about it.
But I don't want to talk about the last two years. I want to talk about when I was a kid.
When I was a kid I had a very hard time learning to read. In second grade I had to go across the hall for reading time in the stupid kids' classroom. I remember very clearly the only time my grandmother got frustrated with me was when she had come to visit us bearing my mom's old Dick and Jane book, and I was laying on the floor trying to read it, but I just couldn't. My grandmother got frustrated because I wasn't learning like all of her kids did and my brothers before me.
To this day, I hate Dick and Jane.
I think I just didn't find any of the books interesting, and that's a huge part of learning to read. But that's neither here nor there.
The point is, I wanted to learn to read and I finally got it because my mom always read. After she got out of work and picked us up from school, we would go off and do homework or watch TV and my mom would lay on the couch in the living room reading romance novels.
When I finally learned how to read, I would sit at her feet with Doctor Seuss and later my "chapter books," then Cam Jansen and Nancy Drew and Narnia and Harry Potter. I felt like such a grown up, reading with my mom.
Near the end she lost interest in reading. But I don't want to talk about the end.
The only reason I took to reading like I did after I finally learned how is because of my mom. The only reason I'm a writer is because of my mom.
I never, ever, in a million years let her read any of my writing but Mom always had such faith that I was good at it. It always felt like there was no question in her mind that I was good at it because I spent so much time and passion on it. Now, that faith is beginning to make me want to write again. I've always hated disappointing my mom. I promised her I would dedicate my first book to her, and I'm going to do it.
Instead I decided I haven't done one of those 'wanna know how awesome my mom was?' posts in awhile. I feel guilty because when the therapist asked me to tell him about my childhood and the things my mom and I used to do together, all I could think of was the last two years, especially the last two months.
Every day after she couldn't work anymore, I'd haul my ass out of bed around noon because I'm a horrible daughter (and, well, someone had to be up in case Mom needed anything because Dad needed to sleep) and make us some lunch while she watched some Food Network. Every day at 2 we would watch Rachael Ray's talk show because Mom and I loved Rachael Ray.
When Mom was strong enough, when Dad got home from work we'd all go out somewhere, like just to the store or maybe to get a coffee. Those times didn't last very long after she stopped being able to work and get chemo. She was so strong, but in the end there wasn't anything anyone could do about it.
But I don't want to talk about the last two years. I want to talk about when I was a kid.
When I was a kid I had a very hard time learning to read. In second grade I had to go across the hall for reading time in the stupid kids' classroom. I remember very clearly the only time my grandmother got frustrated with me was when she had come to visit us bearing my mom's old Dick and Jane book, and I was laying on the floor trying to read it, but I just couldn't. My grandmother got frustrated because I wasn't learning like all of her kids did and my brothers before me.
To this day, I hate Dick and Jane.
I think I just didn't find any of the books interesting, and that's a huge part of learning to read. But that's neither here nor there.
The point is, I wanted to learn to read and I finally got it because my mom always read. After she got out of work and picked us up from school, we would go off and do homework or watch TV and my mom would lay on the couch in the living room reading romance novels.
When I finally learned how to read, I would sit at her feet with Doctor Seuss and later my "chapter books," then Cam Jansen and Nancy Drew and Narnia and Harry Potter. I felt like such a grown up, reading with my mom.
Near the end she lost interest in reading. But I don't want to talk about the end.
The only reason I took to reading like I did after I finally learned how is because of my mom. The only reason I'm a writer is because of my mom.
I never, ever, in a million years let her read any of my writing but Mom always had such faith that I was good at it. It always felt like there was no question in her mind that I was good at it because I spent so much time and passion on it. Now, that faith is beginning to make me want to write again. I've always hated disappointing my mom. I promised her I would dedicate my first book to her, and I'm going to do it.