My Mom is My Constant at Her Active Life

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mom I was talking with my family the other day about the role birth order plays in shaping the person you become. My mom asked us if we think we might have been happier being the youngest instead of the oldest child or being the oldest instead of the middle child. Without skipping a beat, I said I am thrilled being the oldest since that obviously shaped me into being such an ambitious, humorous wonder child. My middle sister vied for validating her birth order as the best because she claimed she’s successful, responsible and, therefore, very well rounded. I am sure my youngest sister and our only brother would also have said they are confident, smart and charismatic because of their placement in the family. In the end, my witty mom posited the idea that maybe all four of us are great human beings because of the mother we had.

That’s probably true. Although, I’m not certain she even realizes how powerful her influence is on me. When I was in my late teens, I went through a very rough time, emotionally. I went from a high school of 200 kids to a university of 25,000. I went from being the overly-watched oldest child with a strict curfew to a world where time seemed non-existent. I call that world college. It was new and exciting. It was also turbulent and overwhelming. As the famous line states, “It was the worst of time. It was the best of times.”
And in the worst of times, I became self-destructive. I struggled to keep a well-earned scholarship. I juggled time spent caring about my family at home with time spent partying with my friends (and some studying).

Without too many ugly details, suffice to say I went off the deep end. The bottom came when my friends had to find my parent’s number and tell them to come and get me and straighten me out. Like an Army captain on a mission, she swooped down, in all her motherly armor, and brought me back home.

We talked a lot that weekend. Actually I’m sure my parents talked while I rolled my eyes and covered my face with my hair. Why is it that the people we expect to understand the least are the ones who understand the most? My mom told me she’d support me if I wanted to drop out, but she implied I was better than that. Then she told me something so simple, it still burns like a lantern in my thoughts today. She asked if I’d been exercising and of course I had not been. Then she said, “I think if you eat right, sleep right and exercise that most things fall into place.” I think that was one of the first times I saw my mom for the genius she always was.

It takes a long time for a new idea to firmly cement itself into your daily routine. Slowly, I started putting pieces of my head together. The puzzle that is my head changes shape often but there is one constant. My mom. When I first tied my shoes, she rewarded me with a strawberry from the garden. She drilled me on spelling words everyday because she knew I was an A+ student. She bought me a gym membership because she wanted me to be healthy. When I had a job that started at 6am, she’d get up early so I wouldn’t eat breakfast alone. She is the first person to send me a text or an email and write “You are awesome!”

She tells me I am awesome, with an exclamation point. And she does it for my two sisters and my brother. She encourages us to be healthy because she thinks health and happiness are linked. She is a bottomless vase of abundant love. If I could give her a Mother’s Day flower for every time I thought of her with gratitude and happiness, I’d have a ring of roses that would circle the planet, endlessly. Happy Mother’s Day, mom. I love you.