What Is It About Mothers?

My mother is on her way to my house and I’m so excited that you’d think I was being visited by a high-ranking dignitary. There’s something about the anticipation of seeing her that gets my creative juices flowing. I have amazing memories of sewing prom dresses and coming up with Halloween costumes that always won prizes at school. I remember how much the holidays would light her up. She’d glow as we decorated the house and I think she enjoyed every minute except for putting the lights on the tree. Since we all had a tendency to wrap the tree in an unflattering spiral pattern, the lighting of the tree became her project. I remember watching her thread the strands in and out of the branches, her hair getting caked with sap, a look of determination on her face. I even recall times when she would remove a branch from the dense part of the tree and send Dad to the garage to whittle it into a point, drill a hole in a bare area of the tree and glue the branch into place. Guests would always comment on our “perfect tree” but it was a very clever illusion that mirrored our family—we weren’t perfect but we managed, even if we were held together with duct tape and string.


Our Halloween Costumes could have won Oscars thanks to my mom’s creative mind. In 1978 when every little girl dressed as Princess Leah, their moms rolled their hair into little buns next to their ears. My mom crafted a donut made out of hair curlers that she secured around a ponytail, wrapping strands of hair around the donut. I was the only little girl with those giant hair-donuts like the Princess in the movie. My Bride of Frankenstein hair measured a solid 24 inches tall thanks to dozens of hair pieces that my mom had mysteriously kept in a box in our basement from the 1960’s. When she tackled fairy tale themed costumes I immerged with twin Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum costumes that took top prize. She didn’t enhance our girth with pillows and padding, she threaded flexible sprinkler pipe around our waists so that our bellies bounced better than Santa Claus.

She’s slowed down some over the years as we all do, but she will forever be a beacon of imagination at its most practical. As my children can attest, they just don’t make moms like they used to. But for a few shining days my kids will get to watch me admire one of my true idols and maybe they’ll forgive me for the Ricky Martin incident. He was just a passing faze, but super-moms are heroes forever.