Happy Birthday, Mom

My mom celebrated her 50th birthday Sunday — and by celebrate I mean did as little as she could to commemorate the milestone. Last month, we surprised her with a small party and she opened gifts, chatted and ate cake with a great grin on her face. But as Davin and I met her and my dad for dessert — because the German chocolate cake I attempted to make from scratch decided to stick to the pan and utterly ruined my gesture — she tried to downplay the inevitable. In turn, I endeavored to comfort her, telling her she’s the youngest 50-year-old I know, and certainly the prettiest.

But the truth is, she is much more than that. She defines the word Mother, and I don’t say this boastfully, but honestly. From the moment I took my first breaths, she has put herself second. I can’t count the sacrifices she’s made over the years, and as much as I’ve tried, I can never seem to repay her … but I haven’t given up.

The earliest memory I have is my mom rocking me during the night when I was 4 or 5. I used to get terrible ear infections, but somehow being in that chair with her soothed me. When I was sick from something else, I’d call out to her late in the night and she’d come running. Sometimes she’d crawl in my bed and rub my back, telling me stories about her favorite aunt, Marie, and sharing other memories from when she was a child. And then I'd fall asleep.

In a way, this is how it's always been ... figuratively, I mean. She's always come running when I needed her, whether I'd fallen and needed picking up or my world had come crashing down and I needed comforting ... and my tears wiped away.

We had our battles, of course. The first ones were over what clothes she had picked out for me to wear. Others were over boys that I shouldn't have dated ... and I learned the hard way. There were even some when we were planning my wedding.

I remember watching her put on her makeup and jewelry when she and my dad had special nights out, often for military balls. How I looked up to her.

Looking back, I know she has always meant well and always wanted the very best for me.

She gave up a career to stay at home with my brother and me. She'd send us off to school each morning and be waiting for us when we came home, snack in hand. She'd drive us to this practice and that lesson. She volunteered in our classrooms, bringing cupcakes and other goodies to my classmates and me, helped decorate bulletin boards and chaperoned field trips.

Somehow, she managed to keep the house spotless, the laundry washed, folded and ironed and the cupboards stocked. We don't have children yet, and I still have a problem keeping up with our household responsibilities.

No matter where we lived or for how long, our house always felt like a home.

My mom kept both of us looking our best, and that didn't mean dressing us in expensive, stylish clothes. To this day, I'm not sure she's ever bought anything at its actual price. When we lived in Panama, she sewed several of my outfits ... and bows and scrunchies to match. Even our Halloween costumers were homemade. One year, my brother and I were M&Ms ... I think I was a crayon, too, though my favorite was the poodle skirt, which I twirled around in endlessly.

Our birthday parties were planned well in advance and always cutely coordinated. My mom was the best hostess and she still is ... she's a much sweeter version of Martha Stewart.

I wanted for nothing, and yet we lived quite simply.

I was the loneliest my first two years of college because she and my dad lived 10 hours away. Saying goodbye after visiting for a few weeks was awful. My heart breaks even thinking about the possibility of us moving out of state one day, however good the opportunity we'd be given.

Over the years, we've become shopping buddies and each other's confidant.

She was my wedding planner, and even threw my shower, and I contend that a professional couldn't have done a better job. The night before, I went in to say goodnight and we had our cry, her whispering that she felt she was losing her little girl. I'll never forget that moment. I told my dad that just before we reached the end of the aisle, I was stopping to say one last goodbye to her as that single girl.

I still look up to her and still want to learn from her, like I did when I was a child. Though I need her less in some aspects, I need her more in others. I don't think I can possibly express all she means to me, but I'm sure she understands. She has an amazing mother, after all.

I wonder what kid of mother I will be. I've had the greatest example and in so many ways ... in the kitchen (though I should have paid more attention here), in serving, in patience, in caring and in loving.

I suppose that's the greatest gift I can give her — sharing all of her with my some-day daughter.