I don’t know why I wrote this. . .especially in March. . .I found it in my computer files tonight, read it, and decided I’d post it. I was still at my “old school” at the time. . .I had been blogging for one month. . .here is a link to the entries from March, 2006. Still don’t know why I wrote it, but I stand by it–and have a lot more to learn.
Roxanne’s definition of Mom, March, 2006
My definition of mom is completely influenced by the women in my life: my Momma, my Granny, my friends and family. That being said, the media could have influenced them and thereby, influenced me, but I don’t feel I’m directly influenced.
So what is my definition of “mom.” Actually. . .I still call my own mom “Momma” and that’s a large part of my definition. A momma is someone with whom you are comfortable, someone with whom you feel safe.
I once saw a definition of “mom” from a child. It said, “A mom is a whole lot of nice with a little bit of mean.” Sounds like I winner of a definition to me.
A mom is someone who plays with your hair and scratches your back, buys your favorite cereal, knows what to give you or say to you even before you ask for it or know you need it yourself.
A mom is a smell–mine smelled like Gloria Vanderbilt perfume–my daughter tells me I have a smell. I know I do, because she will walk up to me, bury her face in whatever part of me she can reach, take a big, deep whiff and say, “Mommy, you smell.” Which sounds like an insult. . .but she means, “You smell like Mommy.”
A mom is someone who loses her temper when all of the pots and pans fall out of the cabinet. My son once walked into the kitchen during a metal avalanche and wisely exclaimed, “Yikes! I’m gettin’ outta here,” as he scurried away.
A mom will stay up way too late at night making a dress, or a skirt, or wrapping presents, or doing things that she knows will make you happy.
A mom is someone who will search through an entire bin of Hotwheels cars to find just the perfect one for her boy.
A mom is someone who sees the face of their baby in the face of their sleeping child, or teenaged child, or adult child.
A mom is someone who comes in to check on you in the middle of the night just to make sure you are covered up—to smell your hair—to hear you breathe—to pray over you.
A mom is someone who makes up silly songs with your name in them and remembers to sing them to you.
A mom is someone who is moved to tears by the thought of you.
A mom is someone who is not always perfect, doesn’t always keep the house clean, doesn’t always sign your school work on time, doesn’t always eat right or set the best example or answer your every beck and call. . .but tries the best she can.
A mom is someone who is loved and chosen by God to help the little ones He has entrusted to her care along their path to Him.
It was a little ironic that I found this tonight. Thad is a very smart, well-behaved student. . .HOWEVER, like most boys, he has his moments of being “off-task, not paying attention, day-dreaming. . .” When that happens, he gets a conduct mark and goes from green to yellow. We’ve only gone from yellow to orange ONCE this year, and our conduct chart is littered with mainly green. Being off-task is a #4 in the behavior chart, but TODAY he got a #1 which was “talking and disturbing others.” Well, that’s a new one, and evidently his Daddy (who signed the behavior chart right before I walked in the door from work) had already given him the what for (and as Thad says, the for what). And. . .he most certainly deserved it. As his school teaching parents know, that is no small matter in a classroom. I tried to get the story out of The Boy as soon as I saw his downcast face. He was very near tears and made me lean down so he could whisper in my ear, “I got a conduct mark.” When I asked him why, I saw that the burden was too much to bear at the time. So we tabled it and ate pizza instead.
After Tony and Victoria left for Girl Scouts, Thad had a long bath. And after that, while I was drying him off and getting him jammied up, we talked about what had happened. I told him I wasn’t angry, but I needed to know what he’d done. He was still very embarrased but told me that he and Nicholas were blowing pencils–as in, laying their pencils on their table, then blowing them to make them roll across the table. . .during math class. . .while the teacher was teaching. Not cool.
We talked about why that was not cool and about what he should do instead–about apologizing to his teacher and seeing if she could move him closer to where she is when she teaches. Then he said, “I can tell you, but Daddy asks the hard way.” I said, “What is the hard way?” Thad said, “He asks lots of questions and then tells me what I did. It makes me feel really hot.” I don’t think he meant “hot-under-the-collar” hot–I think he meant the heat of shame rising in his chest. And which one of us hasn’t experienced that feeling a time or two?
Anyway. He said I don’t make him feel hot. That’s not to say that there are times I don’t lose my cool. I most definitely do–normally with The Girl. I think her Daddy is the one that makes her feel “not hot.” Ironic. See. We do the best we can. . .and hug away the rest.