Happy Mother's Day

One day, while flipping through the channels I saw a program on PBS called Mother Daughter Wisdom. Dr. Christiane Northrup wrote a book and gives talks on the connection between emotional health and physical health, and she had a lot of salient points on the connection between mothers and daughter and the effect that relationship has on your health.

Anyway, when the show started, I loved my mother and all the great female role models in my life. By the end of the show, I really loved my mom and my female role models. Really loved. I had to pick up my phone and call my mommy on the spot. I don't remember what Dr. Northrup said exactly...I think basically she was outlining all the ways it can mess up your health if you have a bad mommy, with a few examples of bad-mommy-having. This highlighted for me the benefits of my own good-mommy-having.

Thanks to all the smart, nurturing, brave women in my family who support me. But thanks, most of all, to my mom.

Mom, you gave me life, love and support. You cooked for me. You changed my diapers and did my laundry. You didn't have a nervous breakdown when I was a tiny little girl and you would wake up some mornings and I was GONE and you would have to search the farm frantically and find me up in some TREE somewhere, even though you had taken the precaution of hiding all my clothes in a dresser that was practically in your bedroom.

You believed me when I was sick, and even though my teachers told you I was a hypochondriac, you kept taking me to doctors until we found Dr. Gold and he fixed the problem.

You took me on Girls' Night Out to the movies and the symphony and to touring Broadway shows. You indulged my passion for old movies and let me watch Seven Brides for Seven Brothers and Grease every day for a year. You gave me the theater bug by letting my haunt the Bittersweet Theater while you and your friends rehearsed.

You taught be about feminism and choice. You let me be an overachiever with a million activities and responsibilies (which, in turn, complicated your life). You told me it was okay to say "No," when people ask for help, too (even as you were trying to master that skill). You told me, at least a million times, "Be a problem solver, Erin!"

You let me cry when I needed to. You told me not to be a teacher. You were incredibly supportive when, six years later, I did become a teacher. You made it so I never even understood the saying "You can't go home again." The words "Thank you" are so inadequate, but they're all I've got. Thank you, Mom.