minalisms


    Posts Tagged ‘mom’

    When your parents are cooler than you

    Friday, October 16th, 2009

    Once my mom and I were through discussing annual Diwali traditions over the phone today, conversation segued to family and my in-laws.

    “How is everyone?” she asked, “I know Suzy is very excited about Diwali.”

    “Are Joe and Claire doing good?”

    “How is little Ian? He’s going to be Elmo for Halloween!”

    She inquired about the usual suspects, and I followed up with four or five variations of “They’re fine.”

    Just when I thought we had gotten past formalities, she offered: “Well, Sonal is still sick, and Christina is getting sick too. …And Anne is now moving to Missouri, right?”

    I paused for a nanosecond, disoriented by my mother’s insight into the lives of folks I know more than she does. Then I laughed.

    “What’s so funny?” she asked.

    “Nothing,” I said, still amused. “You’re just a far better Facebooker than me.”

    Happy Mother’s Day

    Sunday, May 11th, 2008

    I awoke today with the intention to sleep in longer. The inevitability of work the next day was my first thought, and so I was hoping that the tighter I squeezed my eyes shut, the faster the thought would dissipate.

    But knowing that it was Mother’s Day, and that Ben was going to leave in 10 minutes to accompany his mom to church, and that I’d feel lame and guilty for allowing laziness to trump my promise to tag along, and that my own mother would scold me over that decision, was the motivation I needed to spring into gear — and the distraction I needed to forget about work.

    So, I went to church. And for the first time, I was able to understand fully what was being preached.

    It wasn’t about God, or Jesus, or Mary, or the Apostles whose names I cannot remember. It was about being a mom, being a parent.

    “Parents are written all over their children,” the pastor said.

    He expounded on the statement: All parents have hopes that their children will be smarter than they are, stronger than they are, have better jobs than they do, and sustain healthy relationships. But, he said again, “Parents are written all over their children.” So unless parents themselves show strength and intelligence and perseverance and engage in healthy relationships, the children can neither reap nor reflect those traits. 

    It was at that point that I thought about my fortune — my independence, my humor, my wisdom and patience; my home, my fiancé, and, yes, even my job — and saw my parents’ faces rooted in all of those things. They taught me how to be the best of themselves. 

    I was wiping tears from my face when I noticed that there were many others doing the same. They all understood just the same.

    “Parents are written all over their children,” the pastor said, one more time.

    “Amen,” I said. 

    My apartment…

    Thursday, May 8th, 2008

    is a wreck. The recycling bins are heaped well-intentionally. The gold sandals I wore last Friday are still splayed across the rug on the living room floor. A feather boa meant to excite the cats lies lifeless a foot away. Several pages of recipes and housekeeping tips (irony!) ripped from Real Simple magazine are in the days-old spots they fell upon when a strong breeze passed through. The laundry is piling up; the milk is expired; the kitchen sink is crying out; and the discount sofa, struggling to withstand daily use, is layered with the hair of four cats.

    I’m a wreck.

    I miss my mom. And my dad for that matter. I feel like I was better put together under their watch. They didn’t let me stray too far from cleanliness or responsibility or health in all the 24 years I lived with them. They’re not procrastinators; in fact, they follow a simple, reasonable regimen that prevents any overwhelming helplessness of “Where do I begin?”

    They don’t deal with shoes out of place or leftover dirty dishes or loads of this and heaps of that. They get things done … on the spot.

    And that’s really all there is to it.

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