I’m going to share the speech i gave at my mom’s 50th for this one…
I remember when tv turned off at night, I remember staring at the colourful screen willing it to go away so that I could watch tv
I remember pumpkin patch
I remember walking into the lounge and finding my moms breadknife on the floor. Turning around to discover we had been robbed.
I remember stair leading up to a door, leading into a house that I DON’T remember
I remember eating cherries in the Black Forest
I remember my maltese poodle being attacked by dogs, and surviving horrific injuries
I remember lying in bed with my nan, terrified that Water Buffalos would come out of the dam and eat me.
I remember waking up to the sounds of U2 or the lawn mower
I remember a bottle of Nesquick left next to my bed every morning.
I remember not being allowed to go up the Eiffel Tower, because my mom was afraid of heights.
I remember my dad putting his arm around a tiny chinese lady, thinking it was me.
I remember an American Pen Pal who played baseball.
I remember putting on Pjs every afternoon after school, for my mom and me. It was a ritual!
I remember my mom picking me up from school, every day.
I remember waking up on a plane with no shirt on, I had taken it off in my sleep. My dad thought it was hilarious.
I remember puppy in my pocket.
They say you don’t remember before two, but I know that the stairs lead into the house that I left when I was 2. I clearly remember them. I have other, fuzzy memories of that house as well. I remember the dogs barking and someone knocking on the door, my mom asking how they got into the property. Random hay. My earliest memories are fuzzy but clear, and happy. I had a wonderfully happy childhood, not to mention a charmed one. One constant memory? My mom. My mom who stayed home with us, she fetched and carried and did all sorts. Baking, cooking and doing whatever else was needed. I felt horribly guilty at the time, but now realize that she didn’t mind. She put us first. Every single time.
Today we celebrate a wonderful persons life. A person who has had lots of sadness in her 50 years, but who has given lots of hugs and loads of advice. My mom is my best friend, the first person I call (at least twice a day). Our relationship has changed since I had Lily, since I realized what it means to be a mother. Something someone can’t understand until they have children of their own.
To my mom, in licorice and wine, sour worms and chocolate raisins, endless books and soppy movies. In coffee dates and lengthy phone calls, late night and early morning chats. Hair dressing and make up and clothes sharing. Thank you for being my mom.