Belated (but not undeserved) Mother's Day

It's time to introduce you to a little of my family.

I have six older brothers. Even the sixth one, my twin brother, is older than me (by five minutes. He won't ever let me live that down).

Because I have so many brothers, people often forget about my sister. 

She's the third oldest. I'm the baby. There is enough of a gap that I feel that she is another mother. And yes... that is a very old picture of her. 

Apparently, my crib was in her bedroom. She and I shared a room. I remember many a night when we would push each other out of the bed. I usually spent the night on the ground. We shared a queen sized bed. We were grateful when we each got our own bed.

My sister and I haven't always gotten along. Mostly when I felt she was mothering and I felt like I only needed one mother (that's a total lie... I definitely need 2 mothers to keep me out of trouble). But as I've gotten older, I've seen that she simply wants to save me from heartache that she has known, keep me from experiences that have caused her pain. And for that, I'm grateful. 

When I was living abroad, I would receive letters from her. They were few and far between, she was in graduate school, getting her Ph.D—it was a busy time. But her letters were always timely and poignant. She had had similar experiences to me and I drew strength knowing that I was becoming like my big sister.

Even now, I sometimes wish I could be her. She is strong and happy and successful. She has a house and can do handy work. I usually end up stabbing myself with a screwdriver and then freaking out about getting tetanus. We've gotten into the habit of buying one another Christmas gifts. It's a nice little tradition that I really enjoy.

So, although it's been over a week since Mother's day, I want to simply give a little shout out to my sister for being the best non-Mom Mom. I've needed her, and I'm sure I'll still need her. And I'll forever be grateful that I have at least one other girl in the family.

Wednesday Letters: The Chief (Mom)

Wednesdays are the days when I write a letter to someone in my life (past, present, or future) and tell them something. Hence the title, Wednesday Letters.

Dear Mom,

I hope that you had a good Mother's day. Of course you did—Dad took off leaving you to a quiet house. You could relax.

I want to take this opportunity to thank you, Mom, for everything. I guess I took for granted that not every kid's mom got up at 5:30 AM to make them breakfast or at least hot chocolate for those cooler-than-normal San Diegan mornings. Yeah, you were a special mom.

I still remember coming home from high school one day in frustration because the girls who I thought were my friends had spilled about the crush I had on a boy. And you said that maybe I shouldn't spend so much time talking to those girls, but that I could talk to you because you would keep my secrets. I know I still don't always tell you my secrets, but you're usually on the list to know about things happening. I'd rather tell you than anyone else. 

Your laugh is my favorite thing about you. Maybe because I have the same laugh. On Sunday, we laughed about the recent flirting business with a guy and you laughed right along with me as I recounted the stories. And then even while you laughed you gave the best advice: "Be patient and let him work up the courage." When I told you my reasons for questioning whether or not he was even a viable option, you listened, and agreed, and understood. 

Basically, you're my best friend. 

And so I just have to make this one request of you:

I need you to stay well until I get married. Maybe a little after.

Getting sick, going to the hospital—I don't know if I can handle it again. I'm sure you can't either. But I need you to keep hanging on for a bit longer. Cause I'm not ready to lose my best friend.

Love you!

Emery

Mother and Rosa

Perhaps this post is more appropriate for next Sunday.

But patience is not ones of my strong qualities. (I'm not even sure it's one of my qualities in general...)

This is my mother:

I think this was taken around the time she got married which was... when she was 24. Mom is so pretty. I often wished that I inherited her beautiful black hair. Unfortunately, I'm the blond. One of two blonds in the family (there are 8 of us kids).

My mom loves roses. 

I remember her always having rose bushes and every spring and summer she would go out there on Saturday morning and cut roses to bring inside. She would also cut them and have me deliver the roses to neighbors or to anyone who needed a bit of cheering up. They were beautiful roses. 

When I was 23, I stopped disliking Mom so much. I grew out of my teenage angst and attitude and I actually loved spending time with her. I realized that she was growing much older. And she probably wouldn't be around for much longer. 

That year, I lived at home for six months. And during that spring and summer, I would go help my mom cut the roses. She taught me about their names and the differences. Her favorites were black magic. They are red that deepen the color towards the ends of the petals so that they look almost black. Or at least, I like to say those are her favorites. Maybe they're just mine.

When I went back East a couple of weeks ago, I ran into the U.S. Botanical Gardens. It was on my trek through the National Mall and I thought, "Why not?"

Of course, the roses were blooming. And I found a new favorite. Prairie Desert.

I loved the pink (I never like pink so that was a bit of a surprise), but I also loved the yellow. It was just... pretty. 

One day, when I have a house, I want a line of rose bushes. And you can be sure that there will be a bush of Black Magic and a bush of Prairie Desert.