Mom's the World

The world is not enough. Even if every person on the planet is either crammed into that Olympic arena or watching you on TV-- if your mom's not one of them, does it really matter who is?

I cried as Joannie Rochette opened her arms to present herself to the world and accept its applause before her performance. Because you know the one voice that wasn't cheering was the only one she wanted to hear--and that silence most likely weighed out all the other praise.

She lost her mom to a heart attack just two days before her short program. Her performance is moving. You can watch it here.

Moms really are so much of the magic we experience in life.

I heard a photographer speak at convention once who had recently had a friend photograph his family with their aged, ill mother. Nothing was posed or unnatural. His mother was blind so she kept her hands on their faces and her cheek close to theirs in order to communicate and "see" them. They are some of the most beautiful images I have ever seen. He described them as portraits of a family saying goodbye.

Soon after that day his mother passed away. On his flight to her funeral he looked out the window at the city lights below. He said he remembered thinking,"All of those people down there are going to wake up soon and go about their daily lives having no idea anything has changed, but the world will never be the same without my mother in it."

Mom's fuel life. So much of what I have tried and achieved has come about because my mom believed in me--and told me so. And I heard her telling others.

And when I have a new idea or thought or experience I call my mom. I usually know what she'll say, but somehow it's not the same if I don't hear it from her. And I truly believe she enjoys it as much as me. Natasha Gregson Wagner said, "I thought my mom's whole purpose was to be my mom. That's how she made me feel."

I love that, because it's exactly how I feel.

And I can't imagine giving the performance of a lifetime in any arena without knowing she was there, heart pounding, hands shaking, saying a little prayer for me. Crossing her fingers at all the hard spots and celebrating each tiny accomplishment.

I know it's been said so many times but I honeslty feel that while, to the world you may be one person, to one person you may be the world.

Especially if you happen to be a mom.

YOU'RE the mom...

In our attempt to keep this sweet little person alive and happy, Brent and I ask each other questions about Adi ALL the time,especially when she's crying (as if one of us knows the answer). Most often it starts with, "Do you think she's..."

Yeah, and for a while we both would throw an idea out there in an attempt to sound like we knew what we were doing--like, "Maybe her tummy hurts, maybe she's cold, maybe she thinks is 3 p.m., not 3 a.m., maybe she wants her binky, maybe she doesn't want her binky, maybe she wants the other binky" --you get the idea. The suggestions were endless.

One morning (EARLY), Brent was rocking her and asked me some "Do you think she's..." question. I turned around and stated what we both knew was obvious. "I really don't know, dear!" Then I asked the million dollar question, "Why do you keep asking me all this stuff that I don't know the answer to?"

And he replied with the statement I've been mulling over ever since. "Because you're the mom, you're supposed to know this stuff."

(I'll pause while you picture the horror that spread across my face).

Now, I realize that this wasn't an entirely original idea. When you're five and play with dolls, you act like the mom and naturally take care of the baby as if you know when it's time for it to eat, sleep, etc. because you're the "mom" and you know everything. The DOLL isn't alive and screaming however.

Even when you decide to try to have kids It's usually money, timing, etc. that dominate the conversation--as if knowing what to do with the thing isn't even an issue.

(As I'm writing this, suddenly the bossy overhelpful NICU nurses don't seem so annoying.)

Anyway...

I picked Adi up out of her crib this morning after a failed attempt to let her fall asleep on her own ended in tears--hysterics really. As soon as I wrapped my arms around her the waterworks ceased. We sat in the chair, and as I held her and talked, her sweet little blue eyes stared right into mine. Her little body relaxed and she calmed down completely.

And then it hit me - in a totally different way. I'm IT for this girl, at least for now. I'm the one that makes everything better, I'm the one that can do no wrong. I'm the one with encouraging words, sweet lullabyes and healing hugs. (I'm not oblivious to the fact that she also knows I'll feed her). In her little life I'll be the example of what a mom, a woman, and a friend should be. It's daunting.

I'm just so grateful I have the mom I do. Sometimes I get on her case for not having all the answers and not giving the advice I want to hear. It's really ridiculous because she always knows what I acutally need, usually before I do. And most of the time it's just for her to wrap her arms around me and talk to me. When I was young, I thought my mom's whole purpose was to be my mom. That's really how she made me feel.

I just hope I can be that for Adi and someday feel like I'm on my way to being the kind of mom my mom has been for me when Brent looks at me and says, "You're the mom."