She's Alive!

Did any of the rest of you forget that this Sunday is Mother's Day?  I did . . . but then again, I was raised by a woman who was offended by the idea of Mother's Day.  Offended that card companies had to "come up with a made up holiday" so that people could show their mothers that they were loved.  We did nothing for Mother's Day.  She even got annoyed when we sent her cards as adults because we were feeding the monster. 

I guess I don't really care about Mother's Day either.  At least in terms of the chicks and Papa Rooster making a fuss over me.  Ironically enough, Mother's Day is now a time that I think a lot about my mother.  Eleven years ago my mother died.  I am sure she is in heaven wishing I wasn't thinking of her around this made up holiday, but I miss her and I often wish, not just on Mother's Day, that she was here for my sister and me, especially since we have become mothers.

But listen to what happened yesterday.  (I will try to keep this short, but really, you may want to get a glass or mug of your beverage of choice.) I took the chicks to the park.  There were 2 other little girls there, probably about 7 and 9 years old.  Right from the start, they were being ugly to Girlie Chick (who is 6).  I watched and let her handle it herself.  But at some point, it became too much for her to handle and she came to talk to me about it.  She was sad and couldn't understand why these girls were being so mean to her for no reason.  My blood was already on a low simmer from watching them, but I calmly reminded her that some people just aren't nice and that she should ignore them and play with her brothers.  But that isn't Girlie Chick's style.  So she walked over to them and said, "Why are you being mean to me when I am being nice to you?"  (Gotta love my girl.) And do you know what one of them said to her????  She said, " What are you . . . a wittle baby who has to go and tell your mommy when people are mean to you?"  I could see my little girl's eyes go big and her mouth drop open and I am not ashamed to say that my blood moved straight to a rolling boil.  Up I stood, and let's just say that the big eyes and dropped jaws belonged not to my baby, but to those mean girls. 

Now, I had been texting with my sister as this situation was building.  One of her texts said, "Just be sure that you don't tell them that you have a gun in your bag."  (Just to be clear we don't even own a gun so this was a joke.)  What she was referring to was an incident with our Mother . . . years ago.  My sister was getting bullied in 5th grade by a girl named Mary.  Mary was in the fifth grade too, but she was 13 or 14 years old.  She had been in the fifth grade for a while and she was a full grown woman at this point!  My mother had had enough of the bullying and she marched up to the school, found Mary in the hall, and told her to stop bullying my sister because she had a gun in her purse . . . I guess inferring that she would use it!  She didn't have a gun in her purse (I think??) but she could be a bit crazy, especially when it came to her girls.  You just didn't mess with us.

Remembering this story yesterday made me laugh, because really, my mom was just funny.  But also, I realized that although it seems like I don't have the motherly guidance that many of my mom friends have, I do.  She is alive.  Not BESIDE me, but INSIDE me.  I am not the girl who yells at other peoples kids.  I can be a real wimp.  That was my Mom yelling, because at that moment, I needed my fierce mom, and so did Lyndon.