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).
Showing posts with label Mom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mom. Show all posts
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
A Few Things I Want to Remember About Mom...
-Every time there was a Father/Son camp out at church, it was party time for mom and me. We’d get all kinds of old movies and musicals to watch, usually get some delicious take-out as well as ridiculous amounts of treats. We’d shut ourselves up in her bedroom and talk, eat, laugh and watch movies. I would always sleep in her bed on those nights.
-After I graduated from BYU, I had no money, no job, and no prospects. For some reason I didn’t want to come home to Texas. I was seriously down to my last loaf of bread, and the rent was due soon. I called my mom one night to cry out all my problems. My mom decided that all she needed to do was pray for me—and so she did. She prayed and prayed and prayed. The next WEEK, I had a brand new job, and a month later, I met Steven. I’ve always said my mom had magic prayers.
-My mom always randomly said things like, “Do you know how much I adore you?” or “I can’t believe I have such a beautiful daughter.” Things like that. Just out of the blue.
-When Mom and I would fight, we’d have these huge, irrational, crying and screaming fests, followed by a very brief silent treatment (and I mean BRIEF! 30 minutes tops—neither one of us could stand to have someone mad at us) and then finished off by an equally huge, irrational and crying make-up scene. We Howsley girls never got the hang of calm diplomacy.
-And I save the best for last. My nephew Andrew came to spend the night one weekend, and my mother and I decided he needed a haircut. I vaguely remembered the location of a barbershop close by, so we drove to it and went through the door.
It was completely filled with (only) black men. It was straight out of a scene from that movie “Barbershop”, only MUCH more crowded. Fathers and sons were sitting around on benches, all talking loudly and laughing, waiting to get their hair trimmed. When we walked in—absolute silence. Everyone in the room was trying to act as natural as possible—like there was nothing in the world abnormal about two of the whitest white ladies in the world waltzing into an African-American Boy’s Club barbershop and sitting down to wait for a haircut.
We went ahead and got Andrew’s hair cut, but the man who cut his hair gave us a discount because he admitted that he wasn’t entirely familiar with cutting white hair. We all smiled politely and walked out the door. As soon as we shut the car doors, we burst out laughing and didn’t stop for at least 10 minutes. I’m pretty sure the guys in the barbershop erupted into uproarious laughter the second we walked out the door.
-After I graduated from BYU, I had no money, no job, and no prospects. For some reason I didn’t want to come home to Texas. I was seriously down to my last loaf of bread, and the rent was due soon. I called my mom one night to cry out all my problems. My mom decided that all she needed to do was pray for me—and so she did. She prayed and prayed and prayed. The next WEEK, I had a brand new job, and a month later, I met Steven. I’ve always said my mom had magic prayers.
-My mom always randomly said things like, “Do you know how much I adore you?” or “I can’t believe I have such a beautiful daughter.” Things like that. Just out of the blue.
-When Mom and I would fight, we’d have these huge, irrational, crying and screaming fests, followed by a very brief silent treatment (and I mean BRIEF! 30 minutes tops—neither one of us could stand to have someone mad at us) and then finished off by an equally huge, irrational and crying make-up scene. We Howsley girls never got the hang of calm diplomacy.
-And I save the best for last. My nephew Andrew came to spend the night one weekend, and my mother and I decided he needed a haircut. I vaguely remembered the location of a barbershop close by, so we drove to it and went through the door.
It was completely filled with (only) black men. It was straight out of a scene from that movie “Barbershop”, only MUCH more crowded. Fathers and sons were sitting around on benches, all talking loudly and laughing, waiting to get their hair trimmed. When we walked in—absolute silence. Everyone in the room was trying to act as natural as possible—like there was nothing in the world abnormal about two of the whitest white ladies in the world waltzing into an African-American Boy’s Club barbershop and sitting down to wait for a haircut.
We went ahead and got Andrew’s hair cut, but the man who cut his hair gave us a discount because he admitted that he wasn’t entirely familiar with cutting white hair. We all smiled politely and walked out the door. As soon as we shut the car doors, we burst out laughing and didn’t stop for at least 10 minutes. I’m pretty sure the guys in the barbershop erupted into uproarious laughter the second we walked out the door.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Thanksgiving
Today was a good day. I hosted Thanksgiving dinner at my house, and I actually didn’t burn anything! (Don’t roll your eyes, this is actually an amazing feat)! Dad’s brought his new friend Judy, who just happens to be a Home-Ec teacher at Pasadena High School. She cooked a mouth-watering turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing and a glazed ham! And that’s not all! WE cooked a prime rib roast, rolls, pumpkin, chocolate meringue and cherry pie, corns and green beans. Why did we cook so much food? Um…not sure. But there was plenty left over. Steven says that’s why the world hates America…because people like us have 3 meats for dinner. But it was all very delicious and everyone even washed the dishes for me afterwards so I didn’t have too!
Judy brought one of her students. His name was Brian and he was a very nice kid. He’s got a tough home life, but still manages to pull off a 4.0 GPA. He was so sweet to my kids, helped with the dishes, and was totally at ease talking to a bunch of random adults about nothing in particular. I was really glad he came.
Judy is just lovely. She’s sweet and funny and is so good for my dad. He’s been so lonely since Mom’s been gone. Mom once told me that Dad would have to marry again if she died. “He’s too happily a married man to live alone,” She’d say. She always said it matter-of-factly, without sarcasm or joking around. She was right, too. This past year and a half have been hell for Dad. And Judy is so nice and he seems so happy. It’s the first time in months I haven’t worried about him.
But I feel torn too, like I’m jealous for Mom. It seems like the last little thread of her is disappearing. I look around and it’s like she was never even here. And I miss her so much today that my heart feels like its breaking. I’m not ready to take her place and be what she was to our family. I wish she was here. It’s strange…whenever my life is at its happiest and I see how much I have to be grateful for…that’s when I miss her most.
Judy brought one of her students. His name was Brian and he was a very nice kid. He’s got a tough home life, but still manages to pull off a 4.0 GPA. He was so sweet to my kids, helped with the dishes, and was totally at ease talking to a bunch of random adults about nothing in particular. I was really glad he came.
Judy is just lovely. She’s sweet and funny and is so good for my dad. He’s been so lonely since Mom’s been gone. Mom once told me that Dad would have to marry again if she died. “He’s too happily a married man to live alone,” She’d say. She always said it matter-of-factly, without sarcasm or joking around. She was right, too. This past year and a half have been hell for Dad. And Judy is so nice and he seems so happy. It’s the first time in months I haven’t worried about him.
But I feel torn too, like I’m jealous for Mom. It seems like the last little thread of her is disappearing. I look around and it’s like she was never even here. And I miss her so much today that my heart feels like its breaking. I’m not ready to take her place and be what she was to our family. I wish she was here. It’s strange…whenever my life is at its happiest and I see how much I have to be grateful for…that’s when I miss her most.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Steven & Mother's Day!
Steven’s birthday was yesterday, and while I’m a little late, I wanted to do a post for him. Poor guy had to share it with Mother’s Day! We actually celebrated on Friday night by picking out a gift at Guitar Center and trying out a new restaurant called “Rockfish Seafood Grill,” (it was excellent, by the way…yummy snapper!) Not a fancy birthday, but that’s what he asked for, bless him.
Steven is the best thing in my life. He makes me laugh every single day with his crazy antics. He gave me my two beautiful children. He is the best, most involved and interested father I’ve ever seen. 
He can do just about anything, from fixing the carburetor to composing jazz pieces. He also can talk to anyone with ease, be it the President or the little old lady next door. I love him to pieces and am so glad he’s mine. Happy Birthday, Baby!Mother’s Day was great. My boys made me these cute little things in primary/nursery.
But it was a strange day. I kept expecting to burst out into tears or depression, but it never really came. I just haven’t been able to mourn my mom lately. I don’t want to talk about it and I don’t want to think about it. I cried a few times at church on Sunday, but I really feel that, at least for the present, I want to keep that door closed for awhile.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Abbreviated History
My friend Jenni tagged me with this cute 5 List, but I had already done part of it, so I’m doing my abbreviated history instead.
10 Years Ago:
I was finishing my junior year at BYU and trying to get better on the guitar. I was the messiest occupant in a four-girl apartment. I was singing in the Concert Choir w/ Mack Wilberg & played ‘Susanna’ in our Opera Scenes. Life was full of term papers, possible music connections, and dreams of getting married before I was 21 (didn’t happen, by the way. Why did I even want that?)
5 Years Ago:
Steven and I had been married for almost a year and living up in Libertyville, IL in a this tiny & dreary basement apartment (and were it not for newlywed love, it might have bothered me). I was teaching elementary music at Clearview School in Waukegan, and we were looking to buy a house (which we did 3 months later, and ohhh, I miss it so).
5 months Ago:
I was madly preparing for the Ward music program, wondering vaguely about when I was going to buy some gifts, and bracing myself for our first Christmas without Mom.
10 Years Ago:
I was finishing my junior year at BYU and trying to get better on the guitar. I was the messiest occupant in a four-girl apartment. I was singing in the Concert Choir w/ Mack Wilberg & played ‘Susanna’ in our Opera Scenes. Life was full of term papers, possible music connections, and dreams of getting married before I was 21 (didn’t happen, by the way. Why did I even want that?)
5 Years Ago:
Steven and I had been married for almost a year and living up in Libertyville, IL in a this tiny & dreary basement apartment (and were it not for newlywed love, it might have bothered me). I was teaching elementary music at Clearview School in Waukegan, and we were looking to buy a house (which we did 3 months later, and ohhh, I miss it so).
5 months Ago:
I was madly preparing for the Ward music program, wondering vaguely about when I was going to buy some gifts, and bracing myself for our first Christmas without Mom.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Our Triumphant Do-Over
Friday night was our last chance at the Brahms' Requiem and I'm happy to say--joy of all joys--that we made restitution for our wretched Thursday concert. Our Friday performance made everything worthwhile! Everyone sang with their heart and soul and it made all the difference. I was lucky enough to be standing next to the soprano soloist, and her beautiful performance brought tears to my eyes. Quite honestly, I sang through my tears most of the night—the mixture of words, music and pure emotion overwhelmed me. I felt the spirit so strongly. I sang for Mom last night.
Its nights like last night where it just seems like everything makes sense and the thought of life without music seems unimaginable. And even though we may not have sung it the way Brahms envisioned it, I’m pretty sure he would have smiled indulgently just the same.
Its nights like last night where it just seems like everything makes sense and the thought of life without music seems unimaginable. And even though we may not have sung it the way Brahms envisioned it, I’m pretty sure he would have smiled indulgently just the same.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Mom
Sometimes I would just like to yell at some imaginary adversary…
“Look, YOU just don’t understand. SHE wasn’t like your mother. WE were different. There was no hidden rivalry, no insecurity, and definitely no pretense of affection. It was wonderful companionship, understanding and pure love. We were kindred spirits. Best friends. We spent all of our time together. She was my right arm. She was helping me raise my children.
I remember reading a poem and writing it down in July. It went like this:
A shadow flits before me,
Not thou, but like to thee:
Ah Christ, that it were possible
For one short hour to see
The souls we loved, that they might tell us
What and where they be.
But the broad light glares and beats,
And the shadow flits and fleets
And will not let me be;
And I loathe the squares and streets,
And the faces that one meets,
Hearts with no love for me:
Always I long to creep
Into some still cavern deep,
There to weep, and weep, and weep
My whole soul out to thee.
-Alfred, Lord Tennyson “Maude”
And no one, NOT ANYONE can possible love you like your mom. No one else has as much invested in your personal happiness and success, regardless of compensation, as your mother. No one in the world has any reason to care about what I do nowadays. Goodness knows, though I love him so much and I know he loves me, my patient husband does everything he can just to circumvent my constant emotional meltdowns.
So why does it matter? Who am I looking to for a pat on the back? Was I really THAT dependent on Mom for encouragement? Yes.
I was having a hard time being a stay-at-home mom. I felt not only like a crappy mother, but useless because of it. My mother was my own personal cheerleader, assuring me that my decision to be at home was right, and encouraging my stupid little happy homemaker activities. Now it all seems so frivolous and inconsequential. And all those feelings of crappy mothering keep hammering me over the head.
And it was so nice to have someone else (besides my husband) who wanted to talk about MY kids as much as I did, and who loved them so much and were so interested in their every milestone. The topic never got old. There is no replacing that.
No grandmothers. My mom’s dead, Steve’s mom’s dead. Just like how I grew up. And I was so excited for my kids to have that stereotypical grandmother who spoils you rotten and who always takes your side, etc., etc. Because she was that grandmother, and my kids were crazy about here. Sometimes Stevie will ask me “Mama, where’s grandma? I miss her.” And I won’t be able to talk through the tears.
It’s a certain way of thinking. Those of you with sisters know the difference between a sister and a friend. Sometimes you may even like your friends more, but your sister knows you and can communicate with you so easily. I guess it’s a little like that. My mother saw threw me and would politely point out my inconsistencies. Sure, I might get mad, but I knew she was right.
My role is just different now. I can’t be the taker anymore. I have to learn how to be the giver, like she was. I have to somehow morph from being the trainee to the being the mentor. I don’t know if I can bear it, but I have to. I really think it might be a part of what I’m supposed to be learning.
“Look, YOU just don’t understand. SHE wasn’t like your mother. WE were different. There was no hidden rivalry, no insecurity, and definitely no pretense of affection. It was wonderful companionship, understanding and pure love. We were kindred spirits. Best friends. We spent all of our time together. She was my right arm. She was helping me raise my children.
I remember reading a poem and writing it down in July. It went like this:
A shadow flits before me,
Not thou, but like to thee:
Ah Christ, that it were possible
For one short hour to see
The souls we loved, that they might tell us
What and where they be.
But the broad light glares and beats,
And the shadow flits and fleets
And will not let me be;
And I loathe the squares and streets,
And the faces that one meets,
Hearts with no love for me:
Always I long to creep
Into some still cavern deep,
There to weep, and weep, and weep
My whole soul out to thee.
-Alfred, Lord Tennyson “Maude”
And no one, NOT ANYONE can possible love you like your mom. No one else has as much invested in your personal happiness and success, regardless of compensation, as your mother. No one in the world has any reason to care about what I do nowadays. Goodness knows, though I love him so much and I know he loves me, my patient husband does everything he can just to circumvent my constant emotional meltdowns.
So why does it matter? Who am I looking to for a pat on the back? Was I really THAT dependent on Mom for encouragement? Yes.
I was having a hard time being a stay-at-home mom. I felt not only like a crappy mother, but useless because of it. My mother was my own personal cheerleader, assuring me that my decision to be at home was right, and encouraging my stupid little happy homemaker activities. Now it all seems so frivolous and inconsequential. And all those feelings of crappy mothering keep hammering me over the head.
And it was so nice to have someone else (besides my husband) who wanted to talk about MY kids as much as I did, and who loved them so much and were so interested in their every milestone. The topic never got old. There is no replacing that.
No grandmothers. My mom’s dead, Steve’s mom’s dead. Just like how I grew up. And I was so excited for my kids to have that stereotypical grandmother who spoils you rotten and who always takes your side, etc., etc. Because she was that grandmother, and my kids were crazy about here. Sometimes Stevie will ask me “Mama, where’s grandma? I miss her.” And I won’t be able to talk through the tears.
It’s a certain way of thinking. Those of you with sisters know the difference between a sister and a friend. Sometimes you may even like your friends more, but your sister knows you and can communicate with you so easily. I guess it’s a little like that. My mother saw threw me and would politely point out my inconsistencies. Sure, I might get mad, but I knew she was right.
My role is just different now. I can’t be the taker anymore. I have to learn how to be the giver, like she was. I have to somehow morph from being the trainee to the being the mentor. I don’t know if I can bear it, but I have to. I really think it might be a part of what I’m supposed to be learning.
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