My Mom is Way Cool

After my last post, I wanted to clarify that I do not have an evil-stepmother-ish sort of mommy. She is so great, in fact, that I don’t remember ever once thinking that she was so horrible that she deserved my loathing, even when I was a rotten teenager. She’s swell.

During my first semester of college I had to write a paper for English 101 that described someone whom I admired. Most of the other students probably wrote about Abe Lincoln or Eminem, I wrote about my Mommy. After my husband asked me to be his wife, I asked my Mom to be my matron of honor. Now that I'm a mom, my kids have the best Nana in the world. She’s amazing.

She’s so smart that she practically knows everything; that’s why I call her at least a half a dozen times a day. Okay, I don’t call her six times every day, but some days I do. I call her because I need to know things like: why won’t the kids share their toys, what should I do for a constipated baby, and will my husband ever put his dirty socks in the hamper? She’s remarkable.

I also call her because I feel the need to whine. I do that often. The poor woman sacrificed dedicated years of her life to giving my three younger sisters and me a quality homeschool education, and all she got in return was four children who whined about science work and practically threatened mutiny if made to learn math. At least the whining I do now is a new and wonderful kind of whining, the kind where I’m whining to her instead of at her. That has to count for something. She’s fantastic.

I am quite sure that during the time I spent in her household she was only cruel to me when she forced me to go to bed with a wet head or when she made me do something else I didn’t want to. I learned a lot about child slave labor from her and am looking forward to the day when my own children are old enough to scrub the kitchen floor, dust the entire house, and fan me whilst I read. I’m sure after that they’ll think I’m swell, amazing, remarkable, and fantastic too.

Nana