Phe-mom-enal

Dear Mom;

Happy Mother's Day. I have always loved you with all of my heart, but as I have gotten older and hit bumps in the road, I think I love you more now than I ever did growing up. Maybe not "more", but definitely "differently".

Maybe it's because we almost lost you a few years ago. The thought of losing you scared me so much that we changed places for a while. I was your champion, your advocate, your caretaker. I was terrified that I would lose you.

You pulled through, and I'm grateful I have you every single day. Because I know that one day, (hopefully when we're both really, really old) you won't be here. My heart hurts to even think about it.

Andrew told me about an article he read, talking about how fetal cells cross the placenta and go into the mother's blood and stay there. You are a part of me, and I am a part of you. Literally.

We share our relationship with the whole world for an hour a week, and most of our listeners get our relationship. Some don't, and that's okay, because we get it.  We have the same sense of humor, mutual respect for each other as adults, and most of all, we genuinely enjoy each other's company.

There are people who hate their mothers, never speak to them, live thousands of miles from them, and say horrible, ugly things about their mothers. I don't get that. I can't even begin to understand it, and I feel sorry that they don't share what we do.

Good relationships don't happen by magic; you made raising us your career, and you excelled at it. You have always been there, whether we wanted you or not, because you knew that we needed you - even if we didn't know it. You made sure that we were intellectually enriched, but not over-scheduled. You have always been honest with us.

You sewed for us; beautiful clothes, fun and inventive Halloween costumes, and formal gowns as I got older. You knit for us. You cooked us delicious, nutritious food. You did the things that your mom didn't do for you, because you wanted us to have the mother you wished you had.

When I was growing up, I was confident that there was nothing you couldn't do, and only a handful of questions you couldn't answer. Couture sewing? Sure! Pipe whipped cream on cupcakes? Easy. Make a papier-mâché headpiece? DONE. To this day, I am impressed with the breadth and depth of your knowledge.

You were always willing to discuss things and treated us with respect. You taught us that we needed to stick together because we would always be a family, and someday, Sam and I would only have each other left to lean on.

More than the things you did for us, you made sure to do things *with* us. You were always enthusiastic about trying new things, and you taught us that many hands make fast work. You also taught us - by example - that failure is okay. Like when we tried to splatter paint the living room, and it just looked like projectile vomit on the walls. We laughed, took pictures, painted over it, and tried something else.

 You have always been supportive of my crazy ideas, 1000%. When I called you at 11pm one night in 2007 and said, "We should do a podcast! And we'll call it 'The Knitmore Girls'! Write this down!", you said, "Okay. What's a podcast?"

You taught us to love learning by example. I am so proud that you're not one of *those* people. The ones who refuse to move with the times and declare technology "hard". I love showing you the first step, and watching you take off from there. (I especially love when you run into one of your Luddite peers and say things like, "Can you believe that they don't do Facebook/texts/the internet?")

You are the best travel companion a person could ask for; you're flexible, easygoing, and have been known to remind us all that "we can sleep when we're dead!"

I love that Genevieve is your MiniMe, because in a sad, dark, wonderful way, I feel like this way I'll always have a part of you in my life. 

You are an incredible grandmother. Every day I learn a little something new about how to be a better mom through your example. You are loving, but you don't tolerate bad behavior.  We play, we dance, we sing, we snuggle. My home is full of joy, love, and laughter, and I couldn't have done it without you.

You remind me to take deep breaths, to finish my coffee. You are my sous chef in the kitchen, my extra pair of hands with Genevieve, and my sounding board.

When I am unkind to myself, you remind me that *nobody* speaks that way to YOUR baby, and insist that I treat myself with the same respect I show others.

You think it's strange that I thank you every single day, for helping, for being here, but I don't think you really understand how grateful I am. 

Me and the Mouse. Stitches West 2013, photo by @abbyknitz

I hope that Genevieve and I will have the same type of relationship that we have, because I treasure it. Thank you for being a phenomenal mom.

Splish splash

Last year, when the CA Lottery hit a major high, I told Andrew to buy a ticket.

"Who knows?" I said, "We could win some money. Please buy a ticket on your way home."

And wouldn't you know it, while we didn't win the big pot, we won a little money. I didn't write about it, or talk about it because I didn't want anyone to think that winning the lottery had changed us.

I promise, it hasn't.

It has been scorchingly hot for a few weeks, so I made a proclaimation that it was time to put in a pool. As these projects sometimes go, I misjudged the cost scope of the pool, but that's because Mom thought we should go bigger, and she - like always - was right.

We only won $7, guys. We bought this pool

The installation was fairly straightforward and quick, and the smell of it offgassing curing reminded me of my childhood. It smelled like floaties and fun.

I put a couple of inches of water in it, while Mom got Genevieve into her adorable swim diaper, and then we let loose with the squirting bath toys.

There was splashing. There was squirting. There was laughter.

Swim diaper!

And Genevieve had fun, too.