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My Mom is Still Better Than Me

May 6, 2013

“Want me to pick up a bottle of wine on my way home?” she calls to ask before arriving at my house from the airport.

Is this a trick question?

“Mom, do you even  have to ask me that? Yes, bring booze.” I respond. Please God, bring the booze. My husband is out of town and I’m home alone with a 7-and-a-half-month-old who still does not sleep through the night. Please God, bring the booze.

The next time I hear her voice it is as she walks through my front door, practically crying as she drops her luggage and throws her arms out to hold my baby boy – my baby boy who she’s not seen since Christmas. We are all mush and gush in the middle of my kitchen.

We separate from our love fest and she hands me the brown bag from the liquor store. She’s brought not only one, but two bottles of wine. Two.

Ah. My angel has come.

Everyone always says we become our mothers. Well let’s just say after this weekend, I’d gladly welcome that day at any point. By all means, let me become my mother. Please Lord, let me become my mother.

I come home from work after the first day she’s here. I can actually see the floor in the living room. The baby toys are put away, the rug – by some miracle of God – has been vacuumed, and there is no longer dust on any of my bookshelves. I assume my baby was a golden perfect angel that day in order for my mother to accomplish such feats. When I ask her she says, “oh he was not happy with me. Refused a bottle and barely napped.” Barely napped? And you dusted? “But you know,” she says, “I just worked around him.”

The next day I come home from work and my mother announces she’s vacuumed inside the hood above my stove. Inside the hood. INSIDE. I didn’t even know you could, or should, vacuum that. She also happily reports that she was able to “just put G in his crib awake. He sucked his thumb and off he went to sleep.” Excuse me? Excuse me. Oh, you accomplished that, did you? That thing I’ve been trying to teach my baby to do for months? That skill I’ve attempted to teach him by evenings spent sobbing uncontrollably in his crib, refusing to let him nurse, and otherwise torturing us all? You got him to do that?

The woman is magic I tell you, pure magic.

My laundry gets done. All the clothes my son has outgrown are lovingly placed in boxes, labeled with my mom’s precise penmanship, and carried to the basement. My bed is made. G’s toys have new bins and boxes. There is farm-fresh ice cream in my freezer. And my son is somehow bathed, clothed, and loved on. How does my mom do it?

There’s got to be something to mothers, right? They have this way about them that instantly calms, soothes, and assures that all will be right in the world. They have this limitless power. This just-watch-me-get-it-all-done power. They give and they give and they do it all without fuss or notice or (sadly) thanks.

If I turn into my mother some day, I will consider that the highest of accomplishments. If I can set my son’s world spinning right, the way my mom does for me, then I’ll know I’ve done my job.

I’d gladly turn into my mother. I mean, the woman can raise my child better than me and fix my entire household while still remembering to bring the wine? Yes. Yes, I think I’m okay with becoming that.

Thanks, Mom. You’re a hero.

3 Comments leave one →
  1. Jaena permalink
    May 6, 2013 7:15 pm

    Quite possibly the best Mother’s Day gift a mother could receive is this letter written about them. You’re both pretty lucky to have each other. ❤

  2. May 6, 2013 7:22 pm

    This was a very sweet post! Moms are astounding. Including yourself.

  3. Debra Miller permalink
    May 6, 2013 8:38 pm

    I agree, Lauren. Your mother is amazing and Brayden is so blessed to have her as the other half of our grandma team! XO

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