Remembering Some Things About Mom on Her Birthday

She always typed in capital letters. I don’t know if she just couldn’t be bothered to use the Caps Lock key or if she was just seriously too blind to see lowercase.

She was blind as a bat. She had an astigmatism, and though she could see better than me with both our glasses off, her glasses didn’t correct her vision 100%. Once, when she and my father were first married and going to buy a cat at the pet store, she took off her glasses, squinted at a sign and asked my dad “What’s Wishots?” My dad started laughing because the sign actually said, “W/ Shots.” They ended up naming the cat Wishots.

She had this weird thing with slamming her foot on the breaks several times before she stopped the car. It was very jarring, and we teased her about it constantly.
Loved road trips. And she loved to be the one driving. We would constantly plan road trips and they are some of my very best memories.

Her own mother (my grandmother) died of pancreatic cancer when my mom was only 11 years old. A year and a half later, my grandpa remarried. My mom was just as tall as her new step-mother, and only 18 years younger. She tells me now that her step-mother (who later became her adopted mother) really taught her how to love her husband.

She joined the church when she was 15 years old. When she was 14, she met her best friend, Vicki Von Bose, who eventually introduced her to the church. Incidentally, Vicki was also the one who introduced my father to the church 6 years later. And so I’m very grateful to Vicki.

My mother and father never fought in front of us. Whenever they had a fight, they would lock themselves in their bedroom and speak with low voices. We never even knew they were fighting.

She really wanted a granddaughter. She loved, loved, LOVED her five grandsons, but in her heart of heart, she really wanted to spoil a little blonde haired girl.

She worked as a nurse in mother/baby for about 30 years. I had David at Arlington Memorial (where she worked, and incidentally, where I was born,) and she got me all kinds of special little perks. Everyone knew that “Cyndi’s daughter” was in room 7.

She wouldn’t let me go to a party when I was 15. I had been invited by a boy I had a huge crush on. When my mom asked me if parents were going to be there, I reluctantly admitted that, no, there wouldn’t be. I also (for some strange reason) let slip that there might be alcohol there. She was resolutely against it, and told me in no uncertain terms there was no way in Hades I would be going to that party. I cried and yelled and told her she was ruining my life. I think back now how hard that must have been for her to hear. But thank goodness she stuck to her guns.

She was a fabulous dancer. She wasn’t the skinniest woman in the world, but man could she shake those hips! She taught me all the dances from the 60s, as well as how to jitter-bug. She and my dad ALWAYS danced when they chaperoned Stake Youth Dances.

I could (and did) talk to my mother about everything. I don’t see myself having that level of trust, acceptance and closeness with someone ever again. (Because let’s face it…there’s a few thing you can’t--or maybe would just rather not--tell your husband).

She is the standard of motherhood to which I hold myself. Being a mom filled her full of joy. I always felt loved, appreciated, highly esteemed and (most of the time) understood.

If you can remember any stories about my mom, please tell me. I always love to think about her and laugh (and cry).