The Final Countdown

May 10, 2009 at 5:25 pm (School) (, , , )

Photo 76

I have jury tomorrow. That just about sums up how I feel about this.

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Mother’s Day

May 10, 2009 at 12:52 pm (Life) (, , , , )

Since it is that day a year again, a stereotypical post about the appreciation for my mother is in order.

I would be lying if I said my mother were an easy person. She’s not. She can be brusque, she is honest to a point where tact is not even a remote option. She will roll her eyes at some flights of fancy. She’s never done things the easy way and she is independent and self-reliant; offering help will sometimes result in getting yelled at. She doesn’t quite understand the concept of being a sympathetic listener, instead she tries to come up with pragmatic solutions and is then flabbergasted why she is not someone’s first pick of listener. Her sense of fashion is non-existent and her penchant for wearing loud-colored self-knit socks with sandals has embarrassed me plenty of times.

But she is a wonderful person nevertheless, one who has faith in me when I am rather sure no one else does. Her honesty keeps me grounded. This crazy lady truly believes I am a beautiful, talented, smart, sophisticated young woman. She raised me to know I am worth a whole lot more than the world will offer me at times. Her primary concern is always, always my well-being and living up to my potential. She was willing to give me another chance after I messed up horrible when I was younger; she was willing to give me another pet to help me cope with my failure and my anxiety. Throughout every mistake I made, she trusted in my ability to make the right decisions for myself. My decisions may not always coincide with what she believes is right for me, but she will try and accept it after some initial bitching.

If I have a best friend, it is probably my mother. Distance – her being stationed on a completely different continent for some parts of my life – did sometimes put fissures in our relationship, but we were brave enough to put the pieces back together again and work around those cracks.

My mother is a crazy, wool-obsessed fiber artist with no tolerance for idiocy and the ability to forge her way through anything if she sets her mind to it. It was hard to realize, over the years, that she, too, is a human being and as prone to failure as I am. I still don’t think I could imagine a more perfect mother for myself.

Photo 75

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