Happy Mother's Day

I have not celebrated Mother's Day for a very long time. It used to just make me sad, so I tried to ignore it as much as I could. And besides, I don't really need a holiday to remember my mom, as if she weren't ever more than a few minutes from crossing my mind. 

But this year I am feeling differently, and today I am happy to think of her with a smile. That's why the illustrations are awash in purple, my favorite color, and one that always makes me feel joyous. 

My mom was quick whited, and could be biting and infuriating, but also very kind. She delighted in my clumsiness, often comparing me to Baby Huey. I know that sounds a little mean, but she always said it with a smile, with love. I imagine growing up one of seven children helped form her take-no-prisoners sense of humor.

One year for Christmas I asked for a Linda Ronstadt album. Nothing else. I unwrapped everything under the tree that was tagged "To: Jimmy From: Santa." (My mother signed all of our gifts from Santa, even when my siblings and I were well into our teens and twenties.) I tore open socks, underwear, Avon aftershave (my mother was an Avon Lady--one who somehow never left the house to make a delivery, and why should she when she could get me or my Dad or my sister to deliver the little white bags for her) and a Shirley MacLaine book I had bought myself at the mall on Christmas Eve, and then gave to my Dad to wrap and put under the tree to ease my guilt about shopping for myself so close to Christmas.

The one gift I had asked for and was excited to receive was not under the tree. I was disappointed but tried not to act bitter. After all of the wrapping paper was collected and thrown away and we were all just sitting around the tree listening to Christmas music, my mother turned to me and said, "Well, did Santa bring you everything  you wanted?" 

I tried to be grateful. I mean, I wasn't a little kid, I was eighteen. I couldn't very well throw a tantrum.

"Yeah, I guess so," I replied.

"Why don't you go into my room and look on the bed. I think maybe he left one more thing for you."

I knew right away it was the Linda Ronstadt album.  I smiled. She had gotten me. Again. 

Anyway,  that was my mom. Funny and infuriating. 

(note: the drawings are based on pictures of my mom and dad from about 10 years or so before I was born, so it's not really how I remember them, but I do love my mom's crazy hat and my dad's casual smirk.)