Last year was the first Mother’s day without my mom, and I wanted to make a post about her then but couldn’t do it. This year it’s easier, and I’m thinking more about the treasure trove of good times and memories. I am remembering how my Mom changed her own tires, and then later in the week, I watched as she got dolled up for a date night with Dad. I loved that she was an even mix of independence with such a feisty streak, and how she and my dad talked and talked about everything in their lives. I love how she encouraged me to play hard and play tough. And at the same time, she made me wear gloves so that I might know how to work hard but have ladylike hands. She was a math whiz, and I believe she would’ve been an great architect if she’d gone that path. But what I know is that she was an amazing mother.
She had a deep kindness within her and an easy smile. I especially loved making her laugh and laughing with her. Laughter is contagious, especially when it’s about the little things, and especially when it’s so funny you can hardly catch your breath. And I love how loudly she laughed, how we’d throw back our heads and howl with laughter. Laughter should be uninhibited like that, just pure enjoyment. I loved our late night coffee chats, watching shows, playing cards & Dominoes, discussing school, and discussing love and life. I miss belting out a good song with her. We both would squint our eyes and faces to hit those high notes, and then laugh at each other. I miss her immeasurably. The worst and the best part is how I’m sometimes blindsided by those memories, stopping me in my tracks. But the one unexpected part of all this is that the most reoccurring image…is her smile. 
I’ve loved to read all my life, and I remember going to my mom if I got stuck on a new word, asking “What’s this word?” And I’d pronounce the word, breaking up each syllable. To which she always smiled and said, “Get the dictionary.” “Aww, mom, just tell me” – And her firm reply, “The dictionary.” I’d get the dictionary, sit on the stool in the kitchen, look up the troublesome word, read the definition aloud, and happily sink back into my book. One time I walked into the kitchen, holding a book open and said, “Mom, okay, what’s…..Whores…dee-vores?” Momma whirled around, “What?!? …let me see.” She read it and burst out laughing, turning red in the face and correctly pronouncing it as “Oor – derves”. We had a good laugh, and I asked, “So what does – ” and Mom’s “Get the dictionary.” And again, that smile.
