Maybe this will change the ad at the top of my blog. UGH! It has one for the *cringe* Republican party! Ugh! In hopes that it will go away, I'm posting a link to an organization I support.

Vote for Kerry!! Click on my link and read how we need a change in government.

MoveOn.org

"To err is natural; to rectify error is glory."
~George Washington

 
Tomorrow, or should I say... today is Mother’s Day. It isn’t one of those holidays that you decorate your house like Christmas or Easter but for some reason it is special to me. Being that I am a mother every second of my life would make you wonder why I enjoy Mother’s Day since I don’t need a special day to feel special. I feel the same way on June 22nd, my daughter’s birthday. That is the day that I celebrate, at least to myself, Mother’s Day. After all, that is the day I became a mother.

I don’t need to receive any gifts on either day and I certainly do not expect them on my daughter’s birthday. My gift is being here another day to see her one more day. My gift comes with every hug she gives me. My gift comes every time she calls my name... Mom.

I love being a mom. I used to be a mommy. I loved being a mommy. Being a mommy went along with seeing my little one climb up or down the steps using only one foot. That always made me smile. Being a mommy meant that if I had to hurry I could still pick her up instead while watching out for little feet that kicked.

Being a mommy meant I could dress her up in cute outfits and make her a bow to match. Being a mommy was seeing her with her blankie while she sucked her thumb a la Linus.

Being a mommy was reading picture books while she sat on my lap and hearing “read it again”. Being a mommy was all about still having to bathe her and wash her hair and somehow still play with the toys that filled the tub and then tucking her in bed. It was about coloring books, Barbie dolls, and of projects requiring lots and lots of glue and popsicle sticks.

I then graduated to being a momma. Not much different than being a mommy except that instead of matching bows she now wanted to wear scrunchees, nothing fancy. It also meant that now she insisted on wearing pants. Being a momma meant showing her how to use the shower. It was about seeing her read books with no pictures by herself. Being a momma meant not needing car seats or booster seats in my car as I drove her to sleep over at her friends’ homes. Being a momma meant hearing her answer the telephone and write down the number of the person that called. It meant still making her lunch.

I am now mostly a mom.

The sandwiches get done by her. No more Barbies. Oh, they’re still there but are now living in the closet. I used to want to reincarnate as a Barbie in my next life with all the accessories she had. Now I just smirk at them when I open the closet. My life is better because in being a mom I have what Barbie never had... the best hugs from her.

Being a mom is different than being a mommy. Now, instead of pointing to bugs she points to the cute guys. A mom means talking about the midnight showings of Star Wars or X-Men. Being a mom means that instead of adding with beans and macaroni, we are graphing algebra equations. Being a mom means buying her the black nail polish. It means listening to Blink 182 instead of Raffi even though she is the one wearing the headsets. Being a mom means having to see the occasional eye roll. It means no more sitting on my lap to watch the scary scenes in Beauty and the Beast because she now sits next to me while watching The Mummy.

Being a mom is sitting next to her in the passenger seat of my car because she is sitting in the driver’s seat learning how to drive.

Sometimes, however, I am still a momma.

When I am, I smile to myself. I get that warm, fuzzy feeling that puts a smile on my face that practically goes around my head! It is then that I realize that though she drives my car in empty parking lots, she is still too young to get her permit. It is also then that I realize, inasmuch as I will be a momma or a mom, she will always be my little girl.

"Who is getting more pleasure from this rocking, the baby or me?
~Nancy Thayer