Malcolm, my son in the middle, provided an opportune moment this week to reminisce about the shaping of my mothering style. While at the elementary school waiting for Wheels to be dismissed, Malcolm and other under 6s were engaging in a preschool version of Wild -n- Out, an impeccable display one-upmanship concerning the coolness of the their moms.

I stood back, watching and listening intently to the circle as their mouths flapped while spinning around the firemen pole, or spattered with feet indeterminately kicking mulch. The intensity was moderate, no overreaching words, no hurt feelings yet.  The kids spouted “cool” details of mine is in medicine, mine works for the government, mine can run a hundred miles with no water, mine has an awesome pink shirt with swirls on it that makes her smarter, Well my mom is 44 and that is old and cool….

Snickering at the their sheer amazingness and the fact that Malcolm had said nothing, just looked curiously at each kid as they described the coolness. He saw his opening and stepped up to the plate, “Well my mom is awesome because she is a still a kid and always will be.” With that, he dropped his mic and walked away.

Darn straight kid.

Not growing up has a long history in my family.  We have celebrated my father’s 12th birthday each year since I was a kid, even this year.  No reason, just an age he loved and decided he would rather stick than grow up.

But the true culprits behind the notion of not growing up derives from my mother’s side.  As a youngster, my granny encouraged pranks, laughter. Each Christmas, my brother and I would plot a prank, usually involving a snake to further prey upon her fear, and take her down. We would run past the 1970s Pontiac Firebird she drove because at 70, you’re not too old to feel young, into the house, and up the stairs to master our plan.  We practiced our scheme for an increased chance of success, but through our casual veil, she always saw it coming. A twinkle would shine through her large round 70s opaque framed glasses and her shriek ignited the room with delight.

Never one to only be surprised, granny would take everyone’s  breath away by attempting dangerous stunts.  At 80, while walking through a protected forest, her determination could not be stopped from walking across a fallen tree bridging a rushing creek far below; her denim skirt blew, her white blouse swayed, and as we held our breath with half closed eyes, her brown loafers wobbled along the knobbly bark, never faltering.

My mother inherited granny’s vivaciousness and love of kids. In the hardest times, my mom made growing up enjoyable.  Like my granny, there was always time for a joke, a hug, and she’s never broke a promise to her kids or grand-kids. During the long tough days of summer, the sun is never too blistering for her Irish skin not to haul the her six grand-kids to the water park, and though in her 70s, she will knock kids out of the way to go down the water slides. Laughing all the way down and apologizing after. On more than one occasion, her attempts to hilariously scare the grand-kids by grabbing their legs through the steps of a playground, has gone awry by her misjudgment of the set of shoes, and yanking of some stranger kid to the ground. Again, apologizing after and slinking away with a teeter.

At 16, I was struggling with friends and we escaped to walk in the park near our home.  Those strolls always made what was wrong, right.  On this particular occasion after chatting, she drifted off to the side and moments later hollered my name. She was nowhere. Vanished.   I heard my name again, swirled the opposite direction desperately, and there she was… my mid-50s mom had fallen out out of a tree in a heap because it’d been a long time and I thought ‘I can still climb’. 

It was then I knew, she was just like her mom, and I wanted to be just like her.

Back at the school, Malcolm turned 180 to face the other kids, continuing to walk backwards and shouted, “You don’t believe me, she is a kid and that’s cool.  Just ask her!” No eye contact, just a smile to ground as he walked by.

May I walk across logs, jump fences, climb trees, and try my best not to break promises for many years to come.

Thanks Mom.