Sunday, May 8, 2011
New Blog
Moved my blog over to my company website. Check out http://www.allyoga.ca/bliss/blog if you are interested in what I have to say :)
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Being REAL
I have often wondered what goes on (or doesn’t) in someone’s mind when they ask, “Have you ever looked for your REAL mother?”
I am, and have always been a little confused by this question.
The dictionary defines REAL as “Being or occurring in fact or actuality; having verifiable existence; Genuine and authentic; not artificial or spurious; Being no less than what is stated”.
Although all of this fits the bill for my Mum, I much prefer the explanation given to the Velveteen Rabbit by the Skin Horse in my favorite story.
My answer is always the same from the time I was a little girl. Probably from about the same time my mum gave me the Velveteen Rabbit to read in 1982. I always say, “I already know who my REAL mother is”, and in my heart I know…
She is the one who dreamed about me and hoped for me. She is the one who prepared a room for me just in case I came. She is the one who held me and cried because I was the most beautiful little creature she ever saw and she couldn’t believe I was hers. She is the one that was so afraid someone would say I wasn’t and take me back. She is the one who took on her new role with her whole heart in spite of all that. She is the one that worried when I cried or if I didn’t make any noise at all. She is the one that nestled me into bed and then checked for my breath in the middle of the night. She is the one that sang to me and read me stories. She is the one that curled my hair and laughed at my funny face. She is the one that wiped the crayon from my face and pulled the "one-ies" from my nose. She is the one that put a Band-Aid on my knee and cheered me on to try again. She is the one that dressed me so pretty and took me to so many first days if school. She is the one that cleaned up the bucket and held my little retching body when I was ill. She is the one that bought me crayons and paper. She is the one that always made me try it before I decided I liked it or not. She is the one that went to parent-teacher night and piano recitals. She is the one that flung her hand across my face when I sat in the front seat and she had to hit the brakes. She is the one that held my hand and told me it would be okay the time I had to stay in the hospital when she must have been freaking out inside. She is the one that dried my tears and told me how special I was when I felt that everyone hated me. She is the one who buttered my nose. She is the one I wanted when I got my first period and the one I turned to for so many after. She is the one that held the menacing cold facecloth in the doorway to persuade me to get up for school. She is the one that wrapped bacon sandwiches in a napkin as I ran out the door. She is the one who wouldn’t let me dress like a little tramp and always had to know where I was. She is the one that stayed awake until she knew I was in the house. She is the woman who cried tears of joy at my graduation and held my father’s hand in pride. She is the one that let me go so far away to find myself and waited for me to come home. She is the one that let me make my own mistakes even though it hurt her like hell to do so. She is the one who answers the phone for the fifth time in one day even though she knows it is me again. She is the one who read the poem at my wedding that still make me weep.
She is the one that showed me what it is to be a loving wife.
She is the one that reminds me to be myself.
She is the one that teaches me how to be a good daughter.
She is the one I look up to when I need advice about my own two babies.
She is the one, she is my only, and she is my REAL mother.
"Real isn't how you are made”, said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become real.”
I am, and have always been a little confused by this question.
The dictionary defines REAL as “Being or occurring in fact or actuality; having verifiable existence; Genuine and authentic; not artificial or spurious; Being no less than what is stated”.
Although all of this fits the bill for my Mum, I much prefer the explanation given to the Velveteen Rabbit by the Skin Horse in my favorite story.
My answer is always the same from the time I was a little girl. Probably from about the same time my mum gave me the Velveteen Rabbit to read in 1982. I always say, “I already know who my REAL mother is”, and in my heart I know…
She is the one who dreamed about me and hoped for me. She is the one who prepared a room for me just in case I came. She is the one who held me and cried because I was the most beautiful little creature she ever saw and she couldn’t believe I was hers. She is the one that was so afraid someone would say I wasn’t and take me back. She is the one who took on her new role with her whole heart in spite of all that. She is the one that worried when I cried or if I didn’t make any noise at all. She is the one that nestled me into bed and then checked for my breath in the middle of the night. She is the one that sang to me and read me stories. She is the one that curled my hair and laughed at my funny face. She is the one that wiped the crayon from my face and pulled the "one-ies" from my nose. She is the one that put a Band-Aid on my knee and cheered me on to try again. She is the one that dressed me so pretty and took me to so many first days if school. She is the one that cleaned up the bucket and held my little retching body when I was ill. She is the one that bought me crayons and paper. She is the one that always made me try it before I decided I liked it or not. She is the one that went to parent-teacher night and piano recitals. She is the one that flung her hand across my face when I sat in the front seat and she had to hit the brakes. She is the one that held my hand and told me it would be okay the time I had to stay in the hospital when she must have been freaking out inside. She is the one that dried my tears and told me how special I was when I felt that everyone hated me. She is the one who buttered my nose. She is the one I wanted when I got my first period and the one I turned to for so many after. She is the one that held the menacing cold facecloth in the doorway to persuade me to get up for school. She is the one that wrapped bacon sandwiches in a napkin as I ran out the door. She is the one who wouldn’t let me dress like a little tramp and always had to know where I was. She is the one that stayed awake until she knew I was in the house. She is the woman who cried tears of joy at my graduation and held my father’s hand in pride. She is the one that let me go so far away to find myself and waited for me to come home. She is the one that let me make my own mistakes even though it hurt her like hell to do so. She is the one who answers the phone for the fifth time in one day even though she knows it is me again. She is the one who read the poem at my wedding that still make me weep. She is the one that reminds me to be myself.
She is the one that teaches me how to be a good daughter.
She is the one I look up to when I need advice about my own two babies.
She is the one, she is my only, and she is my REAL mother.
"Real isn't how you are made”, said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become real.”
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