May 8th, 2009

I finished researching the life of Lucy Stone today. She is another Old West journalist that will be featured in the book Front Page. In addition to being a suffragette and a writer she was the mother of two children. She wanted them to have every advantage. As I was reading about how devoted she was to her kids I started thinking about mothers in general. Those tireless nurturers who, for better or worse, have formed us into who we are today. I’m talking about the woman who changed your diapers, kissed your boo-boos, sat up all night with you when you were sick, disapproved of your friends?. Those unshakable bastions of well-meaning dysfunction, somehow teach us about the world while protecting us from its dangers, encourage us to be independent while carefully rationing our freedom, and manage to instill in us the belief that we’re the best while simultaneously making us feel like we’re never good enough. Only a mother possesses the unique ability to envelop you in a soft, warm blanket of unconditional love at the exact some moment that she’s driving you crazy. When you’re a kid, basically your mother’s job is to make you look like a dork. I remember the mittens pinned to the jacket, the Elmer Fudd earflap hats my brothers wore, the rubber boots and the snow pants. There’s an outfit that just screams “Beat the crap out of me and take my lunch money.” And why did my mother insist on cutting my hair herself when I was in grade school. I distinctly remember the pink hair tape being stretched across my forehead so she could trim my bangs evenly. Some of those haircuts were just silly and would have only made sense if my school was doing a stage production of Sling Blade. It seems like mothers get under our skin more when we’re teenagers too. I remember the messages my mother would take if a friend called. They were garbled! “Jenooga called and said the mall can’t be bitten.” Okay. Thanks, Mom. I’ll get the code breakers on that. I doesn’t matter what our mothers do or have done we love them. Whether they are good women who wipe the vomit off the corners of their children’s mouths after they’ve thrown up from the chemotherapy treatments, work two jobs to support her brood when her husband abandons them, or they’re an awful women who has an affair with a coworker then lies to put a father in prison to get him out of the way, kids love their moms. I love my mom. Always will. And as soon as I find my snow pants I’m going to call and tell her.