Mother of Mine

Today is my mother’s birthday. She loved birthdays, so I thought I’d devote this blog to her – she would have appreciated it. Mom was a schoolteacher and really liked anything that encouraged reading. She taught fifth grade, and claimed she couldn’t go any higher than fifth grade without the kids being taller than she was. As a teacher, she was somewhat strict, but made time for fun with the kids every day. I know I love books because of her example.

My mother loved games – all kinds of games, especially card games. She played Canasta like there was nothing else in life. I can still remember she and my father, along with family friends and us kids, playing Canasta around the dining room table in the hot, humid August air late into the evening and sometimes into the wee hours of the morning. My brother and I, kept up long after our bedtime, would beg to be allowed to go to sleep. “Not yet, I’m just about to meld!!!” she’d yell. She competed with every fiber of her being, and might be likely to do a shameless victory dance, but at the same time, cheered for anyone who won. Good times, those.

My mom also loved trivia. She loved it long before it was popular to love trivia. She used to have a Friday trivia contest with her class, and when Trivial Pursuit came out, she claimed they ‘stole the idea from me!’ I have to agree. I can remember her throwing out random facts at the oddest times. We’d be on our way to church, and she’d say, “did you know that elephants are pregnant for almost two years?” or we’d be barbecuing, and she’d say, “did you know that Robert E. Lee’s horse was named Traveler?” I thought it a delightful eccentricity, but my brother used to roll his eyes a lot. After her stroke, she would call me on the phone, sometimes dozens of times each day, to give me some critical ‘fact’ I needed to know. Sometimes I’d have to struggle to be pleasant, wanting to say, “you know, Mom, I have stuff to do!” but I’m so glad I didn’t ever say it. I’d give my right arm for one more call, telling me how many times per second a hummingbird beats its wings.

Even thinking about today’s date makes me smile. My mom, who was an only child, was born on March 26. Her mother’s birthday was March 27. (Some of you may remember that my mom’s parents lived with us from the time I was a baby.) My grandmother, as she got older and began ‘slipping’ a bit in her mind, got a little confused about the dates. She insisted that, since she was older than my mother, that HER birthday had to be BEFORE my mom's, so she claimed March 26 and said the 27th was mom’s day. We all thought this was hysterical, and cheerfully swapped our celebrations accordingly.

Being adopted by this remarkable woman (and her well-chosen, fun-loving spouse - love ya, Dad!) was undoubtedly one of the biggest blessings in my life. Anybody who wants to know how they handled adoption issues can read these previous posts: My Mother’s Eyes or The Chosen Baby.

Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you. Tell Gram I said happy birthday, too.