Mother of the Year

Today, I am grateful for my Mother, Sharon Peterson. I have written quite a few posts on my blog about my mother, as referenced (1, 2, 3, 4, 5). You might say that she is in the top ten things featured in my writing. Pretty important person you might say. Both would be pretty true. She’s kind of a big deal. There are a lot of clichés out there, “my mom is better than your mom,” or, “the best mom of ALL THE MOMS!” And while these are true about my mom, they kind of fall short.

My Mother, Sharon Rose Peterson.

Today is Mother’s day. Though I’ve written quite a bit about my mom in the past, and though this isn’t the first time that I have been away during Mother’s Day, I still want to brag a bit on a Mom that has shown me so many unconditional lessons of love and kindness. Sharon Peterson.

Memories II

Three years ago, I began transcribing memories. The memories had no real order, I would just sit in front of my laptop and type anything that came to my head. I ended up writing over 15 pages worth of memories, and I figured they will be something special to look back on someday.

Last night, I had a memory that was so pure and beautiful, that I felt obliged to share it with you all. I was driving home at night. The radio DJ may have given me some guidance on the subject matter, as I think he was talking about a childhood memory, but I can’t remember the subject matter of the story. Anyway…

First Christmas Back

It’s been some time since I’ve been able to have a white Christmas with my family. For the past three years, Christmas has been 90 degrees, shorts, sand, some sunscreen, your jandals, and a bach to hang with your friends in. Paradise, some of you may be thinking right about now. Well, I found these versions of Christmas to be rather…unfulfilled. Where’s the snow? Where’s the pine tree? Where are the snowmen? Why do ALL Christmas songs feel so hollow when heard on a tropical Island?

Many Mother’s Day

What does it mean to have three incredible mothers in my life? What is the impact of seeing motherhood lived out day in and day out? What is the alternate of this? The impact of a horrible mother, the effects of a neglectful, unloving, absent mother? The scars left by an abusive, overbearing, and insulting mother? This day, like Christmas, Father’s Day, or birthdays, can be a reminder of something we’d rather forget. The pain that is drudged up by the annual forced reminder of this person’s presence, or lack there of, can be more than they would like to deal with.