mother

So.... how to write about me. Hmmmm...... How does one write about herself in an interesting manner, when her life is absolutely ordinary? I have the answer: she writes about her mother!!

My mom is a convert to the church. She joined in Kansas, while away from her hometown of Stillwater, Oklahoma, studying. She met my Dad there and was shocked when she first came to Canada to meet the family. She was expecting ice fields and dogsleds. (I now know that although southern Alberta does not necessarily fit that description, Saskatoon certainly is an ice field for most of the year).5 kids and many moves later, I am in the picture, growing up in Calgary. I have many memories about my mom.

I learned that she is much smarter than me the hard way. When I was around 16 I lied about seeing a certain movie with my friends, telling her instead that I was viewing How to Make an American Quilt. The next day after school, I find sitting on the dining room table a quiz just for me. Turns out my mom had caught the matinee of the Quilt movie, and wrote me up a short answer test to see if I had actually seen it. Of course I failed, and I was banned from movie theaters for the rest of the year.

My mom is very thorough. When I moved away from home for the first time my mom managed to send me 5000 miles away with six extra large moving boxes of everything but the kitchen sink. How we got all that transported by airlines to Texas for free is a mystery to all but her. I had a microwave, springform pans, duct tape, string, thumbtacks, laundry basket..... you name it, and I had it as soon as I walked in the door. Included was even a list of food to buy at the grocery store AND a separate list for Walmart for cleaners and an ironing board.

My mom and I look alike. We are the only blond-blue-eyed Cahoons of my immediate family. It sort of made us the black sheep. There are some pictures of me and when I look at them, all I see is my mom. Weird.

My mom is a very safety conscious person. I think the only time I was ever grounded was when I rode my bike without a helmet. Of course, I left the house with a helmet on - I would just stash it in the bushes once I was around the corner. You would think that a 15 year old would be smart enough to see a 15 passenger beast being navigated by their mom, cruising along the road. Unfortunately for me, I was not, and I was so busted. (Apparently I really would have needed the head protection). I later earned the nickname "Safety Sach," and consider it a trait of hers that I inherited.

This post could go on and on but I think I will end here. It is much easier to write about my mom than it is about me. I now see why a person can write a whole book about their mother. But, I think when we write about our mothers, we are really writing about ourselves. Because without my mother, who would I be?