Mothers' Day Eve

One of the most interesting things about having more than one child is seeing how they are, and are not, like their parents. In the case of my three, it is an amalgamation of physical, psychological, and spiritual characteristics.

The eldest is physically and spiritually my child. His is the only face that speaks of my family's genetic contribution, we think a great deal alike in regard to things spiritual, but he leans toward the stoicism that is his father. The middlest is the physical female compliment of her father and they think a great deal alike, scary but true; however, her gestures and facial expressions prove our genetic bond. Finally, there's the littlest, about whom this story is written. She is honey haired and brown eyed with the skin of a porcelain doll. Her tender little heart is affixed firmly on her sleeve; she loves for the joy of loving, and gives for the joy of giving, which is the point of this tale.

Let me tell you up front I am not, by nature, an early riser. Oh, I won't sleep the morning away, but there is just something wrong about getting up before 8:00 am. Generally speaking, Mary-Clare shares this belief, even on Saturdays, "None of the good cartoons come on until 8." Except on particular morning, that morning I was awakened by a little hand on my face and a gentle whisper, "Are you still asleep?" "What is it, baby?" I was trying to sound concerned but it takes me awhile to get up to speed, however, even through fog I could see she was vibrating with excitement, lights dancing in her eyes. "Tomorrow is Mothers' Day." "Yes, baby, it is." Angry? How can you be angry when pure love is lying beside you? On the contrary, I'm smiling because she'd been hinting all week long in regard to a present she'd been working on and I knew exactly where this was going because, like me, she has a horrid time holding on to a gift.

"Mommy, can daughters give their mommies their gifts early?" At this point, I'm now in the world of lucid thought and we are sitting up in the bed. Peaking from behind my "Barbie" clad angel was a rather large green something, which could only be The Gift. "Hmmm, well, Mary-Clare, I'm not sure. However, since it is
Mothers' Day and technically speaking, I am a Mother (little girl laughter) I think I have the power to bend the rules. So, yes, I think if a daughter, say you, wanted to give a mother, say me, a gift early it would be fine." Peals of sweet laughter erupted as she thrusts the card in my hands and at the same time covered me
in kisses.

She sat close to me studying my face. Even at eight, she has the uncanny ability to read the nuances that betray truth or lies on the face. My eyes filled with tears in the way of mothers. She had written her first poem. She had written her first poem celebrating the love of her family. Then in the midst of love in the forms of hugs and kisses, a quiet voice whispers, "Will you put it in your portfolio, Mommy."

I looked into eyes the color of earth, a face that has known nothing but love and I tell her that I would be proud to include her poem, her first little poem. Some of you will balk at the
Nepotism, "It's not the place, it's not very good." "You spoil her just like the other two." You may be right, but I don't care because it is filled with love and the joy of family.

I am from...
a computer sitting in the corner of the living room.
a brown sewing table at the side of the room.
a bookcase full of books waiting to be read.

I am from...
cheesy mac and cheese going into my family's mouths.
a well cooked fish on a plate.
a dewberry cobbler waiting to be eaten.
a hot, bubbly, tasty pizza cooking in the oven.

I am from...
fun shows full of sea animals
my family playing in a cool pool at Schlitterbaun.
a fantastic airport that brings my brother home

I am from...
a fantastic mom that makes me feel safe
a wonderful dad that helps me pick dewberries.
a wonderful brother and sister who play with me.
and a fantastic family that I love

by Mary-Clare