I’m spending Easter back home in Michigan, and I’m psyched. I chatted with my Mom last night, and she giddily asked if I would help her color Easter Eggs on my visit. I told her that I would be delighted to. Sounds like fun to me! I love mixing the colors to make new colors. Yes, usually I wind up with some sort of brown shade, but hey, brown is one of my top 3 colors (right up there with orange and green – can you tell that I love fall?).
I love that about my Mom. She is still a kid at heart. She always gets a kick out of life. She gets pleasure in the big and little things. Every moment has potential for joy, and she finds it – whether it is in finishing a crossword puzzle, completing a HARD Sudoku puzzle, beating my Dad at Mexican train (again), experimenting on the family with a new recipe she found, reading books to my 94-year-old Grandma, jetting off on her bicycle for a ride around the block. And if there is no happiness to be found, she makes it.
I didn’t always appreciate my Mom’s way of making me look at life. My melancholy tween years were a trial on both of us. Looking back now, I can see that she was just trying to make me see that joy was always within my grasp. I had a choice, two options lay before me. Now I typically chose the other path and wallowed or sulked, but her attempts to make me laugh in my misery often won out in the end.
My Mom is a heroine in my book.
Now I often brag about my Mom, and maybe it seems like I don’t say enough about my Dad. Let me remedy that.
My Dad is pretty special.
I always thought of myself as a Daddy’s girl. I had 3 older brothers, and I wanted to be one of the guys, too. I would often “help” my Dad in the basement as he worked with his tools, and I was his “assistant” when it came to our family camping trips (notice that I am using terms very loosely here—HA!). My Dad and I had a system of specific tasks we each would do when setting up our pop-up trailer on location, and nothing made me prouder than to please him. I know I tried his patience more than he ever let me know.
My Dad is a pretty direct man. He has opinions and deep-rooted beliefs, and he instilled in his daughters the need for character and the courage to stand for something. He’s a strong Christian leader and a tower of strength, but he is more than that as well. He is a gentle man who loves his grandkids. He is so smart. He’s full of facts and history and remembers dates like no one else I have ever encountered. He has a dry sense of humor and an appreciation for wit. Yes, he can appear to be rough around the edges from time to time, but as his daughter, I’m well aware that his occasional gruffness hides a deeply generous and kind heart. He’s actually a romantic, who loves surprising my Mom with gifts or tokens. She’ll mention something in passing, and that very item will magically appear. I love that quiet sweetness he shows.
Growing up, I concentrated so much on bettering the father-daughter dynamic that it is as if I missed out on the fact that I had 2 amazing parents. As an adult, I’ve worked to correct that and learned to appreciate my Mom more and more. Not more than my Dad but more of the same. Now I am finally able to see exactly how loving, strong and amazing both of my parents were and still are. They didn’t change. My perspective did.
Mom and Dad: You are the best! Thanks for everything! I love you guys. XOXO
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