Celebrating All The Women Who Raised Me

Each year when Mother's Day comes around, I remember all the women who had a hand in raising me and making me the woman I am today.  

My mom  - I do and will always love my mom - the superwoman who raised me while getting not one but two master's degrees, who always understands it when I lock my keys in the car with the car running not once but twice in a 24 hour period (yes that really happened! - don't ask), who soothed me when my heart was broken in high school and later on and who implicitly understands my dry and yet sarcastic sense of humor. We look alike, walk alike and talk so much alike that our own relatives couldn't tell us apart over the phone.  She gets me like no one else, she is more than just a mom, she is a true friend.

My other mom - we have all read those fairy tales of evil stepmother.  Lies, I tell you!  The first time I heard my dad was remarrying, I was 10 years old and I wasn't happy.  Afterall, I already had a mom who was this woman who my dad loved and why wasn't he getting back with my mom.  The day I was to meet her, I left her a note instead that said, "Kathy, sorry I can't be there when you arrive.  Have a day!"  Yeah, I wasn't rolling out the red carpet by any stretch of the imagination.  But after some time, I realized how lucky I was to have a woman in my life who treated me and loved me like her very own daughter. Who accepted everything about me, all my quirks and still loved me.  Who always made me feel included and made me feel special even when extended family members didn't.  She and my father are my rock and provide me with support and a real model of a crazy and loving family who I hope to have one day.

My Tia....my disciplinarian.  When I first went to live with my dad, before he remarried, we lived in a two bedroom apartment.  I shared a room with my Tia who had recently arrived from Cali, Colombia.  I was definitely behind schedule at my age according to her - I couldn't cook, I couldn't iron, and I couldn't wash clothes - and I needed to GET ON IT!  And I did, afterall Tia wasn't having it.  Both her and my dad trained me on the proper ironing techniques of a man's shirt, the proper cooking of black beans and pandebonos, and the ways of getting out any stain imaginable.  Then there were the dance lessons - merengue and salsa but then there was SOOOOUUUULLLL TRAIN!  I so looked forward to SOUL TRAIN every weekend.  My Tia loved Don Cornelius and we would do our own type of conga line around the house.  Those first two years were not easy by any stretch of the imagination. But I do owe my Tia a lot for everything she taught me, her wonderful stories of Colombia while in the kitchen and I wouldn't be dancing salsa today if it wasn't for her.

My grandma...sharing her love for family history and lipstick.  The 1970s was a big transition time for the woman's movement and my mom was determined to raise me as an unmaterialistic woman who would become a professional part of society - not just a housewife.  My grandmother came from an era where housewife duties were revered and your job going to college was to get your M.R.S. degree.  Therefore the chances of my mom letting my grandmother babysit for me were slim to none.  But it did happen and boy did we have fun.  She would tell me the stories of when she met my grandfather (at her then boyfriend's birthday party), she would do my nails, roll up my hair and impress on me the importance of putting lipstick on before leaving the house.  In addition, she had a scavenger hunt every time I visited to find more and more old family pictures in the attic - my great grandparents wedding picture, my grandfather's scrap book filled with theater and football pics, and her childhood photos.  Each picture told a story that I carry with me in my heart to this day.

I loved and continue to love these women who made me who I am today.  Happy Happy Mother's Day!