My mother and I do not get tired of talking to each other. We’ve been chatting since the mid-80’s, when I learned to talk, and we’re showing no sign of stopping yet. Which is good, because I have a lot of questions.
In the beginning, I’m sure I peppered her with questions similar to the ones I hear from JC now.
“Mom, why is grass green?”
“Mom, how do fish breath?”
“Mom, what makes a rainbow?”
(I remember my mother having the answer for everything. When I asked her how she knew it all, she said she learned it in college.)
Then there was high school.
“Mom, why doesn’t he like me?”
“Mom, which pedal is the brake and which is the gas again?”
“Mom, how do I get over him?”
Mom didn’t have the answers for everything when I was in high school. But she still managed to fix everything from the dent I put in the car (“mom! Did you see that fence?!?”) to my heart that cracked when my older boyfriend left for college overseas.
When I went to college, I looked forward to learning all the secrets to the world as my mother clearly had. And yet, I still had questions.
“Mom, how do I get bubble gum out of the dryer?”
“Mom, the kid I baby-sit for threw up in my car…how do I get the smell out?”
“Mom, I’m supposed to put champagne in the freezer, right?”
Much like high school, my mother did not have all the answers. She did have the sense to have me bring my laundry home, and she had a mean trick for removing the bubble gum. Alas, her advice on the champagne came too late.
As a newly married woman, my questions were more domestic.
“Mom, how do I cook a turkey? How do I tell if it’s right side up?”
“Mom, wax paper and parchment paper are interchangeable, right?”
“Mom, how do you scramble an egg?”
When I became a mother myself, I finally found my comfort zone. Despite the sleep-deprived haze I walked around in for a year (okay, two years), I knew that being a mom was what I was supposed to be doing. And yet…I still had questions.
“Mom, will he EVER sleep?”
“Mom, how do I get pureed carrot stain out of the carpet?”
“Mom…how is it possible to love something so much?”
This is my 5th Mothers Day. It is my mother’s 32nd. If I am stunned by the passage of time, the blink of an eye that has been the past 5 years, I cannot begin to imagine how my mother must feel.
I think I’ll call and ask her.