My mom stayed at our house till Tuesday morning. When she's here, everything in the world feels OK. She plays with the kids, feeds them, gushes on and on about how brilliant and cute they are. Sabrina inevitably says things to her like, "Babba, who colored on your legs in purple crayon?" (My mom has varicose veins.) And "You're old! If a monster comes to get you, will you be able to run?" And "Mommy is mean and tells me what to do!" Max loves to cuddle on the couch with her.
My mom is the most nurturing human being I know. When I left for work on Monday morning, she handed me $5. "Buy yourself some breakfast," she said. She'll make our bed while I'm in the shower. She'll clean up whatever mess. She'll prepare a bowl of strawberries for me. I don't ever ask her to do anything, she just does it.
Some days, I feel the weight of the responsibilities of bringing up a child with special needs. But when my Mom's around and looking after me, I remember that I'm someone's child, not just a mother. And it's comforting.
Even if she is always telling me I look better with a little lipstick on.
