Happy Birthday, Mom

Maybe it's our astrological signs...

Aquarius Mother of a Virgo Daughter

...or maybe it's the quintessential mother-daughter relationship. But sometimes I wish I had communicated with her more. Or better. 

It's my mother's birthday.

Sandra Lee Niven was born on February 12, 1947 to Archie and Ida Niven. She might not like me mentioning the year of her birth, but she is alive and well after having raised three kids to adulthood, and I am proud to say she is still married to my dad. She is also the grandmother to Hans's sweet daughter, Samantha.

When I was a little girl, my mother and my grandmother would give me dolls. With the exception of Sarah Jane, most dolls got tossed to the side. Horses were and have always been "my babies" and I have never felt differently about this topic. Even today....

If wishes were horses...

My mother is one of the most caring people you will ever meet. She has a completely open heart. She's sensitive and empathetic. If you're sick, she will send a card...or a care package. She encouraged my inherent love for animals that developed at a young age. We've got stories upon stories of the animals we had. Toby, our springer spaniel was a family member who went camping with us on our summer vacations. Chrissy, one of my mom's many cocker spaniels, who had a piddling problem. Tweenah, the great white killer kitty who singlehandedly kept the rabbit population at bay in Murrieta. We used to joke if we came back as an animal in another life that we wanted to be my mom's pet.

Anaheim pets: Chrissy, Toby, Tippy Toes

When we were young, boo-boos were healed with "monkey juice" and a kiss...and she made a healing chicken noodle soup when we stayed home from school with a cold. What I wouldn't do for her stuffed shells with marinara. 

And even better than her cooking is her baking. No one, but no one makes a chocolate chip cookie like my mother. I grabbed a cookie from the batch she recently sent for Travis's birthday and I was immediately flooded with memories of my parent's home in Murrieta...family and friends standing on the laminated kitchen floor...the oak cabinets, the nook, mauve carpet, looking out the kitchen window to the white iron fence and hill on the other side. Memories of holidays...hugs...pets...high school...laughter... parties...making bridesmaids dresses...... moving out.... 

Yes, my mom's cookies can do that.

I wonder what a slice of her pound cake could do to me today.

She was up with the sun making lunches for me and my brothers and she kept a clean house. She wrapped presents signed by Santa Claus and left baskets from the Easter Bunny. She tried in vain to teach me to cook...or sew. She encouraged my artistic side when I was in grade school and faithfully hung paintings around the house. She and my father worked hard so my brothers and I could go to private school. She loved entertaining and decorating, and sets a beautiful table.

I will never know if it bothered my mom when my friends spent the night and we would pull "all nighters" eating raw cookie dough and lip synching to Alanis Morrisette. She never came out to tell us to quiet down. She didn't blink an eye when she woke up one morning to discover that Moo and I moved a bed from the backyard shed into my bedroom so there was always room for her.

My mom and dad balanced each other out. At times, I would pit them against each other, because almost certainly my dad would cave into what I wanted when my mom had put her foot down on me. I knew what I was doing. But then my mom worked to soften the father-son rifts between Hans and dad, and she was referee to the squabbles between my brothers who shared a room in Anaheim.

Looking back, I know I blasted my insecurities at my mother. And she took it. She rarely battled me in my teen angst years (and when she did, it was deserved). Most of the time she would just hug me. She attempted to talk but I would often shut her out and try to deal with my problems on my own. When I would sleep after school, just feeling her presence in my room to check on me was all I needed. Sometimes she would sit on the edge of the bed and put her hands on my shoulders or feel my forehead for fever. She understood my migraines and went to great lengths to try to alleviate the pain.

I saw the worry in my mother that only a parent could feel. To hear her cry is heart-wrenching.

Travis used to leave my mom clipped roses from the neighborhood in the middle of the night. He knew what he was doing (but the neighbors probably wondered who the rose bandit was). I remember the day I told my mom that if Travis moved back to Florida, I would follow him. We were in the brown minivan. She nodded silently. Not long after that, he proposed, and my mom seemed to enjoy being involved in planning the wedding...from the arbor to the bridesmaids dresses and plenty of details in between.

I can remember crawling onto her lap when I was little. I can remember the scent of her skin. Sometimes I think my skin smells like hers, and when it does, the visual of me curled on her lap on the blue recliner in Anaheim comes back to me.

I don't think I gave my mother the relationship she wanted with the daughter she so wished for. She knew I was a daddy's girl from a very early age and at times I thought I could see her heart break. But her love was unconditional and endless. And I do love her.

I love you very much, mom.

Happy Birthday!