Ah, Mother’s Day. The one day a year when so many collectively try to cram a lifetime of gratitude into a bouquet of flowers, a heartfelt card, or maybe even a lovingly prepared breakfast served with extra care and a side of smiles. It’s a day to celebrate the women who brought us into this world, patched us up when we tried to destroy ourselves, and somehow managed to love us through all of it.
This time of year always gets me thinking about my own mom. She’s no longer here, but the memories she left behind are as vivid as ever. Growing up in the mid-70s and 80s, I had the privilege of experiencing a simpler time—a time when kids played outside until the streetlights came on, parents didn’t need apps to track us, and the biggest household debate was over who got to control the TV’s three available channels. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t me.
My mom was the heart of our home, and, in other words, as they would say it today, she pretty much wore the pants in the family. She didn’t have the distractions of smartphones or streaming services to keep me entertained. She had to rely on her creativity, resourcefulness, and, let’s face it, a whole lot of patience. My dad worked full-time, and my older siblings had already moved out by the time I was a kid, so it was often just me and Mom spending our days together, waiting for Dad to come home. Those moments were simple, but they were great…