Today is a special day. November 26th. More specifically, November 26, 1947 was a special day. It was the day my Mom arrived. Born in California, she often told stories of growing up in places along the California and Oregon coastlines. Her adventures of living in a windmill along the seaside, her great admiration for her mother and her close relationship to her siblings always intrigued me.
I remember her telling me often how her and my dad chose me to be their daughter. Unable to conceive, she often retold the story of her and my dad waiting for me, dreaming of me and driving to meet me before they were finally allowed to take me home with them. When the bullies at school poked fun at me, the ‘unwanted’ girl, she always told me they were jealous because their moms had gotten stuck with them and my mom and dad had got to ‘pick’ me. It always stopped my tears and was usually followed up with a warm cookie or homemade brownie.
This time of year I often recall some of the secret adventures we shared which include memories of sharing a loaf of warm French bread and a stick of butter in a parking lot after a day of grocery shopping. The recollection of going to my first movie in a theater and ordering a small soda after a very hot parade. She always wrote a note on my napkin that she lovingly tucked on top my sandwich in my lunch box. I could count on her to bring the coolest snacks for every holiday as my room mother all through the early years in school and she made the most fantastic finger puppets which only came out partway through long road trips mid-summer of every year.
Ponies, puppies and pools. Kittens, critters and crafts. All these things and many more sprinkle my memory when I think of my Mom. She worked hard to make sure we had what those with more money may not have had. We had family. We had invested parents. And I had a mom that made me feel like I was the most special little girl on the planet.
Happy Birthday Mom. Thanks for choosing me.