The Mother's day thing

On Mother's Day I feel something that's akin to being Jewish on Christmas, I guess. It's not that I was hatched, but any experience of being cared for by my mother did not last as a memory past her death when I was two. One Sunday after church, when the subject of mothering instinct came up, I replied I hadn't any - I was raised by my adult version of a tomboy aunt - but I had a very good "aunting instinct." The older women who were part of this conversation all launched into variations on "ooooh, my aunt was the joy of my young life, she did all the things my mother wouldn't..." Yet there was always a want and need for someone motherly for me. Over my lifetime, I've been very fortunate that many friends have shared their mothers, and those mothers have shared their generous nature with me.

Betty - "big" Joanne's mom, who did all the coolmom things my aunt didn't have a clue about, from dolls to theme birthday parties to my first lipsticks.

Dorothy's mother Fran - who was my "loco parentis" when we'd go to their cottage on Put in Bay - particularly the crazy years when we were dating maniacs there. My first images of a kitchen full of baking cookies was sitting at her kitchen table watching and being shooed away from the rumballs. She taught me about plants, birds, some cooking, and let us listen to Tom Lehrer. One of my favorite folk music reference books, I first saw on her piano. A taste for things Scottish certainly started there. Always there, from tricycles to weddings, in a most momlike way.

Nonnie's mom, Anne. I'd watched her be a wonderful mother for years before she realized I was a wonderful young'un. I think it was when I married the guy they'd been thinking Nonnie would, that she and Dolor decided I must be a bit of all right. Then she made it her mission to teach me the things she felt were lacking in my education. I ate it up, as we used to tease her Betty Crocker Homemaker of the Year physics student daughter about being "Little Nonnie Homemaker." I still cherish things she gave me. Ya ever see me using an oh-so-70s orange mushroom embroidered hot pad, you know it's a special occasion because I'm using her gift to honor her memory in my kitchen.

Millie, the mom next door. I fall in the generation between her and her kids, but Millie mothers everyone, and everyone's pets. Her generosity is only limited by time and energy. All the practical help she can give, she does, as well as a great line in tea and sympathy & being a great sounding board. Her indignation on behalf of those she loves is gratifying in the extreme. Her strong sense of what is right, the effort she puts out into keeping the world around her on an even keel are among the best things a mother can give.

In the last dozen years of my life, I've had the unmitigated delight in being enfolded in Madam's extended family. Ruth's mom really is called Madam by all but the wee grandkids. It's quite an adventure for a Catholic-turned-Episcopalian to have acquired a Jewish mama late in life, but I highly endorse it! Her zest for living, her generosity with food and encouragement, her incredible storytelling and infectious laugh, are all delivered with incredible panache. She's the only one who could convince me to try eating chopped liver, and perhaps the only one who makes it so well that I now look forward to it. AND she let me wear her Mrs Senior Ohio tiara for my 50th birthday. What more could one ask?

I give thanks for all the wonderful women who've shared their capabilites in the mothering department with me. I give thanks for all the other mothers-of-friends I've come to know and enjoy as an adult. I give thanks for all the friends I have who are superb mothers: I look at their children and think how lucky they are to have such a life! I know how lucky I've been to have these women in my life. Happy mother's day, whoever ya are.