To Mom And All of The "Village Moms" Out There

Last week I started running again. Outside. I love being outside in the morning. I get that from my mom. Perhaps that is because her cheerful whistling served as my alarm clock for 3/4 of my life. She is a definite morning person and I love that about her.

It just so happens that a giant lilac bush is also growing along my route. Of all the smells I miss right now,  Lilacs are one I miss most.

One time we went on a walk together, just me and my mom, down our usual route. It was about this time of year and as we neared the halfway point there was a lilac bush loaded with blossoms and spilling over the fence. We both stopped to take a look when all of a sudden she plunged her head right into the thick of that thing, trying to soak in the fragrance. I laughed and followed suit and there we were looking foolish on the side of the road with our heads swallowed up in that massive bush. The scent was wonderful. The moment, though simple, is something I'll never forget.

I told one of my co-workers about this walk one time. She loved it because she was a mom too and understood that sometimes you just need to go for a walk and plunge your head in a lilac bush.

One Spring day she came bobbing into work with the most beautiful bouquet of lilacs I think I have ever seen. It was shortly after I had moved out of my parents house and my little brother, and best friend, had just left on his mission. She simply said to me: "I had a dream that you were crying last night so I decided I better do something." It was such a sweet gesture and it meant so much to me. She is one of my adopted moms, one of those ladies that has also had a mothering effect on my life.

You've all heard the old adage "It takes a village to raise a child." Well I'd like to thank all the "village moms" in my life. Women who continually fed, encouraged, and occasionally reprimanded me. Those who invited me onto their porches to talk, endured long nights of giggling during sleepovers, hiked mountains, went to girls camp, rode bikes, chaperoned trips, and organized fundraisers. Women that have honked and waved, played taxi, and said hello at church. Women that taught me to ice skate, swim, and sew. Women that welcomed me into their families while I was dating their sons and have continued to hug and love me when I wasn't. Women that sacrificed their time so I could see my potential more clearly. Mostly, just women that know how to love. I cherish those moments and am grateful for the ways they have enriched my life.

For a few years I worked as a buyer in the textile industry and I kind of miss the familiar thick accent of one of our suppliers who always called me about this time of year.

"Hello gorgeous lady! How are you?"
"I'm great, thanks!"
"I'm calling to wish you a happy Mother's Day."
"Oh, thank you!"
"Yes, gorgeous lady. Do you have any children?"
"No, not yet."
"Well maybe next year...I will hope for you next year."
(We both laugh)
"Thank you."
"Of course, gorgeous lady. I hope you have a marvelous, happy, wonderful weekend!"

The next year came, and the next, and the next and though I still don't have children of my own I am learning how to be a village mom.

Recently my brother and sister-in-law went out of town. My mom had charge over their kids for most of the week but I tried to drop by at night to help out and give her a break. Their youngest daughter who I endearingly call "Migsy" was happy to see me but did NOT want to go to bed.

I tried all the old tricks my mom used to use. I read, and read, and read, and read but she did not even blink an eyelid! I sang primary songs, played soft music when my voice got tired, tried the rocking chair, and gave her abundant snacks only to hear once again: "I miss mommy, I miss daddy, I'm hungry!!!" I knew that child was tired but she was pretty good at faking it.

Finally, my mom told me it was okay to leave. Somehow she'd figure out a way like she always does to get that little one to sleep. As soon as Miggs saw me grab my purse she began wailing like it was the end of the world. I couldn't bear it. So I sat down on the bed and held her in my arms and we talked until she let me lay her down and snuggle next to her. Slowly, slowly she stopped saying "I miss mommy" and her heavy breathing signaled she was asleep.

Later that night my mom said little Migsy woke up once and said; "I miss mommy, I miss daddy, I miss Nae." I guess I earned my right as a village mom. And it feels pretty good.