Things My Mother Taught Me

Sewing

She didn't really teach me to sew, but she piqued my interest and created an environment rich in sewing.  She sewed most of my clothes until I got to high school and my tastes became too different from hers.
Thank you, mom.  Sewing has been a balm for me when I was depressed.  It was the bridge to creating many of my closest friendships.

I really don't like football.

She LOVED football.  The 49ers were her team.  I tried for a while in high school to see what she liked so much about it.  I even had a 49ers sweater, and the first tied quilt I made on my own was a 49ers quilt.  But after about a year of watching football with her every weekend I finally decided that I didn't really care.
Thank you, mom.  Being able to say openly and honestly that I didn't like football taught me that I didn't have to do something just because everyone else was.

That support comes in many forms.

I always struggled with trying to make my mother proud of me.  I could never tell if she was proud of me or not.  Sometimes it was just too hard to see through her sadness.  She supported me the way she could, quietly, in the background.  I would write my papers by hand and she would type them under the guise of needing typing practice.  I know she wanted to be a part of what I was doing.
She drove me to violin lessons and paid for them when we didn't have much money.  Now that I'm older I'm pretty sure that there were bills that didn't get paid because of my violin lessons.
Thank you, mom.  Orchestra saved my life.

She gave me freedom to learn how to care for myself.

Pretty much from the time I got my driver's license she let me take care of myself.  I also did a lot of the cleaning and cooked dinner frequently.  It was never forced on me, she just stood back and let me go.  I have been better for it.
Thank you, mom.  For making the transition to adulthood easier.

How to fail, and get back up again.

Living with my mom wasn't easy.  I was constantly coming up short of her expectations.  I'm not putting blame on her or on me, she was a complicated woman and I was a kid.  But, it taught me that no matter how bad things got, I could move on, I could still do what needed to be done.  That somewhere there was something that I could succeed at, I just had to find it.
Thank you, mom.  For teaching me that failure is not the end of the road.

That love isn't all red hearts, roses and chocolate.

It's letting go of what you think you need and accepting what you have.  My mom and I were different in so many ways, and the same in so many others.  I know there were times, when my babies were born, when my mother in law died, when I moved across the country, when we bought a house, when my husband graduated from graduate school that I would have liked to share with her.  Her health, mental and physical, prevented her from it though.
It took me a long time to work through the cognitive dissonance of what I felt, the hurt and the frustration from dealing with the consequences of the choices that lead to her poor health and still caring deeply about the woman that gave birth to me.  We are all complicated.  I had to learn that love is deep and complicated and messy and wonderful and painful.
Thank you, mom. It's made me a better wife, mother, friend and teacher.

Happiness is meant for everyone.

I've inherited her depression, although mine has never been as pervasive.  She never felt that it was her right to feel happy.  She taught me that I had the right, as a contrast to her life.  I wish so much that I could have helped her to see that.  She had the right to be happy.
Thank you, mom.  For teaching me how to claim what is mine.