Sisters are a prize

I have not won much in my life. It’s very rare I will enter a contest because I don’t want to face the disappointment of losing. When I was about eight years old I mustered up the courage to enter a competition sponsored by a cereal company. It entailed writing a commercial. Mine involved cavemen, a time machine and a box of cereal. To my amazement I came in second place. I won money and my very own camera. I was overjoyed. That camera was a treasure. I took it everywhere and held it in the highest esteem.

Without my realization I had already won a prize that exceeded that long forgotten camera: It was my little sister. When I was six years old, my life changed forever. It was the day my sister was born. I can’t remember being very impressed with our first meeting. But my apathy soon turned to affection. This new addition to our family was just what we needed. Much like my youngest daughter, my sister was spirited and stubborn. She was tenacious! You must need these qualities to thrive as the baby in the family.

For the first time, I felt a bond that I would only feel again when my own children were born. It was a protective, maternal love. I worried about her, I tried to discipline her, I watched over her. At the same time she drove me crazy. I felt my parents let her get away with more than my brother and I could even think about.

Then we grew up. I moved out and our relationship changed. I would come to visit and we began enjoying spending time together. We had the same perspective, came from the same background and had inherited the same sense of humor. What more could you ask for in a friend? To this day, my sister is my closest ally. It’s hard to find a better companion than your own flesh and blood.

When I was pregnant with my third child, I hoped that it would be a girl. I wanted my daughter to have a sister. They too are six years apart, and my oldest has taken on the same motherly role. We let our youngest get away with more than my first two could even think about. They fight, they laugh, they cry … in short, they’re sisters. I hope that someday they realize how valuable they are to each other. Because a sister is a prize of the highest esteem.

I am just like my mother

My mother is amazing! She is generous, creative, industrious, loving, determined and independent. I am thankful that she has raised me to have some of these same traits. When we were young, she always stayed at home with us, when most moms were working. She was my world and I adored her.

Then, around the time I became a teenager, my parents divorced. As many of us know, divorce changes our perspective on everything. And that included my mom. I saw that she was not perfect after all. She made mistakes. Yet, despite these trials, I somehow managed to survive puberty with our relationship intact.

I am still unsure of the day it happened, but I know from experience that most woman reach an age when one fact is unavoidable: they are just like their mother! This is not on purpose. It is probably not even conscience. These are the things you do when no one is around, the decisions you make on a day-to-day basis, how you handle stress, how you treat your children, how you talk to your husband. Yep, all learned from good old mom!

Then you have your own daughter, and it starts from the beginning. She learns from you. You are her role model, and all that you know is what your mom taught you. That is when you turn to Motherhood for Dummies, many self-help books and possibly years of counseling.

Unfortunately, it all comes back to this simple fact. You are just like your mother! Go ahead say it: “I am just like my mom.” Cherish it, embrace it. Take all those good and bad qualities she gave you and build on them. They are the foundation, and each mother is a stepping stone for the next generation.

Sainthood

It’s easy to turn those who have died into saints. You overlook obvious flaws and overemphasize the goodness. An ordinary, average person can become extraordinary the day they die.

Now that my dad is gone we only seem to remember his amazing attributes. This is a source of contention for my mom because we have not shown her the same forgiveness. We have turned my dad into a saint: St. William Arnold. He would get a good laugh out of the whole situation. His final revenge.

My dad was able to pull this same maneuver when we were teenagers. He left town for an extended period of time after my parent’s divorce. Even though I felt angry and abandoned at the time, I soon forgave him. Then and now, only remembering the good, bright and sunny moments can ease the pain. It somehow makes the separation bearable. I gain much comfort recalling the positive qualities my dad displayed. But he was not a saint. He had flaws, he made mistakes, he was human.

Around the time my dad died, I learned some valuable information about my great-grandfather, who had passed away when I was a child. All my life I had been told about his amazing, saintly attributes. But no one ever talked about his flaws. I was shocked to learn of his failings. To know he was human.

The irony is that when you die, you are forgiven of the mistakes that follow you when you’re alive. This is a natural human tendency: to memorialize those who are gone, to set them on a pedestal. The sad part is that we can’t seem to do this when the person is living. For most of us death may be the only time we achieve sainthood.

Your mother wants to call you every day

A mother’s love surpasses time. If you are eighty and your mother is a hundred, she will still worry about you, she will still give you advice, and if she is able to pick up the phone, she will still call you. I actually think it’s only mothers with an extreme amount of self control who don’t call their children every day. Even the ones who hold themselves back still have the desire.

Every mom has experienced letting go. Maybe it’s the first day of kindergarten, the first bus ride, the first field trip, the first date, your child moving out, getting married. Every inch your child grows feels like a foot of letting go. You want them to be independent, successful adults. Yet you secretly hope that they will still need you.

I talk to my mom almost every day, sometimes more than once. Usually the conversations are uneventful. She’s just checking in, touching base. She wants to be sure we are all right. If she has good news, she shares it with us. When she has a bad day, we can brighten it. I take it as a compliment.

Growing up does not stop a mother’s affection. It may make her appreciate you more. If she has done her job right, you will be someone she wants to have a relationship with. She will yearn to talk to you, to hear your perspective, to find out your thoughts and feelings. She has invested much in you and this is her dividend: to have a relationship with someone she has unconditional love for. I know without a doubt that when my children fly away, I will want to follow. I am sure they’ll pay me back by moving 3,000 miles away. I will miss them terribly and I will call them every day.