Mom's Day

Mother's Day is bittersweet for me. I love my mother, my best friend, with all my heart. But I didn't get to birth children of my own and that is one of my true regrets in life.

Yet, God opens doors. He gave me Jennifer and Tyler -- two of my greatest blessings. He gave me their mothers, two of my best friends. He gave me goddaughters (thank you Jan!) and a bounty of children to love. My "sister" has three children and thankfully, she has commanded that they love me.

You never stop being a mother. Today I was liturgist in my church and I flubbed a portion of the responsive reading. There's nothing like looking into the congregation and seeing your mother say, "You messed it up."

Yes, I did. And thanks Mom. One of your most amazing gifts is to let me know that I mess up and you love me anyway.

I truly believe it takes a village to raise a child. This child is looking at 50, a scant few years away, and realizing the women who shaped me, scolded me, loved me and soothed me.

Here's the prayer I shared with the congregation this morning:

Gracious God,

Today we honor mothers. We thank you for the mothers who gave birth to us and step mothers who stepped up. Thank you for adoptive mothers who grew children in their hears. Thank you for foster mothers who deal with situations most of us couldn't imagine. We thank you for grandmothers who get to love and laugh and send the children home.

Lord, let us also honor aunts and godmothers and all who touch our children. Thank you for neighborhood mothers who instinctively know it takes a village.

Let us also be grateful for Mary, a young mother in a challenging situation, who gave birth to our Lord.
,
May your loving hand touch all mothers everywhere.

So, I hope you honor yourself today. If you birthed a child, participated in raising a child, smacked a child upside the head for doing something dangerous or stupid... you have added to the community of humanity for all the greater good.

And may you all have someone who can look at you with a wink and a smile and say, "You messed up." Yes Mom, we all do it once in a while.

It's Not Really a Phone

I love that Zits comic strip. Even though my stepchildren are of legal age, it gives me little glimpses and reminders of the teenage years.

My latest fave featured the teenager ignoring the ringing cell phone. In the final frame, he tells his father, "If it was important, they would've texted me."

I'm about 50 years and a hundred light years away from this fictional character. Yet, I get it.

Remember the big freakin' deal when President Obama didn't want to give up his Blackberry? I get it.

Charleton Heston said he would give up his guns "when they pried him from his cold, dead hands." I'm starting to have that kind of attachment to my phone.

Except, it's not really meant to be a phone. It's a message receptor. I can get emails and text messages. And like Zits, I am far more likely to respond to an email or a text.

My reception must be horrible. My mother tells me this all the time.

But for those of us who tend to speak without thinking, the keyboard has proven to be a Godsend.

Passwords

In this age of rampant access to everything under the sun, I admit to being a little perplexed. When we were young (and I use "we" collectively -- all of us over the age of 35) there were very few things you needed a code to access. Want to enter the house? Use the key. And probably, the door wasn't locked anyway.

I spent years with unlocked doors and open access.

I'm probably more terrified of my sinuses exploding, getting diagnosed with cancer, date rape or identity theft than I am of some random person walking into my home and causing harm.

The odds are in my favor.

The world of passwords is approaching insanity. Most people started out using a simple one like your date of birth, your SSN, your mother's maiden name, etc. Now, every website, every account, every access code to absolutely anything requires a random sequence, including letters, numbers and symbols. On top of that, we are all advised to not use the same one for everything.

I am still job searching and that involves a lot of websites that want me to establish my password. My two favorites don't always work because they don't have symbols.

When I'm feeling goofy, I like to mix it up. Like when they ask for your mother's maiden name as a fallback for resending you your super secret password, I mix it all up. My current favorite is listing my mother's maiden name as SmithEllisjones.

Of course, I no longer have the brain capacity to keep all of my passwords and secret codes in my head. I have a little notebook to keep things straight. I have no fear of someone stealing my identity;I have a great fear of someone stealing my notebook.

Doodling in the Dew

Sometimes I go out with the dogs in the morning. I love being outside early. I love the promise of a new day.

The dew is beaded on the deck rails and everything feels crisp.

When my dad goes fishing, he leaves the house very early. But, I've noticed he doodles along the deck rails. Usually he doodles one word: Sandy.

The Kennedy Mystique

With the death of Eunice Kennedy Shriver this week, Ted Kennedy is the sole remaining child of Joe and Rose Kennedy. And, I suspect we'll be eulogizing him soon.

I've always had a fascination with the Kennedys. Some writers refer to them as American Royalty and I tend to agree. Yes, they have their scandals and their bad seeds but they also have done some pretty amazing things.

Eunice was known for founding the Special Olympics and championing the mentally challenged. We all know this passion was born of her love for her older sister. This may be how she will be immortalized in the history books but I was most impressed with her role as a mother. Her four children adored her and more importantly, wanted to live up to her expectations. Her expectations were huge. There was a quote from her daughter, Maria Shriver, at the memorial service, "If my mother were here today, she would be pounding on this podium and asking all of you what you have done today to change the world."

Good question. Probably one we should all ask ourselves more often.

When Your Presence Is the Present

We all get in situations where we are asked to attend something we would rather not. Maybe we have something more fun to do. Maybe we just flat out, don't want to go. Maybe you're like me and your mother pokes and prods and reminds and uses guilt trips until you just do it so you don't have to hear about it anymore.

It can be anything: a wedding of a coworker, a business dinner for a spouse, a hospital or nursing home visit that feels uncomfortable, a committee meeting that you know will drag on forever...

I'm getting better at setting boundaries for myself. I say no more often than I used to. But I will always be the person who can usually slip into the other person's shoes and ask myself, "Is this important to do?"

Yesterday while I served as liturgist during our worship service, I saw two faces that don't normally attend our church. They were there simply to support me.

Their presence was a gift that I cherish and I thank them.

Mothering

One of my favorite stories is when a girlfriend and her husband told their daughter the facts of life ... the details of how a baby comes into this world. Her response was an incredulous, "You did that for me?!"



This morning in church, the young children handed out carnations to the mothers in the congregation. I hesitated on whether or not to raise my hand.

I did not birth children. Whenever someone asks me if I have children, I always feel a bit like a fraud if I answer "yes." I do, but I share them. I did not go through the normal channels of:

First comes love,
Then comes marriage,
Then comes Sheri pushing a baby carriage.

My minor medical issues could've been overcome. But I also had enough brain cells clicking to ask myself, "Is this really the man you want your children to spend every other weekend with?"

Then I met and married the man I thought I would spend the rest of my life with. His two children became mine. Because I was given that gift. Because I grabbed it and craved it. Because I was taught by example that a mother's love comes from many who mother.

This afternoon I was still reflecting on mother's day, my goddaughters, the many women who have been a blessing to me. I was working myself into a pretty good funk about coulda, woulda, shoulda ...

My phone beeped and I read this text:

"Hi Mom. Happy Mother's Day. I'm at my cousin's graduation and I'll call you later."

Happy Mother's Day to me.

"Children love me. I'm the best mother they never had."
Anonymous

The Color Guard

This is not me or my mother. But, it works. It's a pretty good image of the expression we've both mastered.

I am drawn to colorful people. You know, the kind of people who start a story with:

"Remember that time we were so drunk and then we ..."
"How did it feel when we stuffed you guys in the trunk so we could pay less at the XXX drive-in and then we ..."

I used to wish (Oh please God, just once!) that I could tell her about an adventure gone awry or a risk that didn't pan out. And, she would say, "Oh Honey, everyone has done that. I did that." These wishes came often throughout my teenage years.

Like:
When the high school principal called to report that I was not in school and he suspected I was at the track.

When I rode to Purdue with total strangers to visit my boyfriend. I had my roommate lie for me the entire weekend. His roommate's parents lived across the street from my parents so the secret didn't stay secret for long.

When I was forbidden to get on a motorcycle -- EVER -- and I got on one with a boy. Turned the corner and pulled up next to my mother at a stoplight.

What I didn't get caught doing, I've long since told her the gory details. I don't think I shock her much anymore. Although running my life off into this latest ditch has spiced things up a bit.

She told me the other day that she has no desire to do any irresponsible or reckless things. But she's considering making up a wild-oat-sowing past to make herself sound more interesting.

Trust me on this: No one would buy it.

She is wise and responsible and wonderful. She has a wicked sense of humor and a heart of gold. How she wound up with me is a puzzle that confounds us both.

She did and I'm eternally grateful.

Happy Mother's Day to my mom and to all moms.

"An ounce of mother is worth a ton of priest."
Spanish proverb