Who am I?

I’ve often wondered what kind of mom I come across as to my kids’ friends. My younger son came up to me after school one day and told me that he had shared some home-made fudge with a friend of his, who, when he found out that I had made it told my son, “Your mom is pretty cool.” (I’m relatively sure that ‘pretty cool’ doesn’t have some other junior high school meaning even though I do know that “yer mom” does).

That got me thinking about other “cool moms”. When I was just starting high school I used to think that some of my friends’ moms were pretty cool too. My friend Kim’s mom was uber-cool. All Kim’s friends used to call her “Mom”. She was understanding and often overlooked things that my mother would have freaked out had she known. Like the time Kim and I baked and ate the better part of a lemon cake before going to a beach party where we liberally chugged vodka and orange juice. I don’t need to say that the rest of that night was pretty ugly, but Kim’s mom just laughed at our stupidity and knew that this was a very hard lesson learned. (I haven’t had vodka and orange juice since without being painfully reminded of that night.)

Then there was Judy’s mom. She was another of those ladies whom everyone just called “Mom”. We were always welcome at Judy’s house and there was always a crowd there. Her mom never seemed to mind and usually ended up chatting with whoever was hanging out in the kitchen. She fed us and if Judy couldn’t borrow the car, which wasn’t very often, she would drive us where we needed to be. She trusted us to make the right decisions, and I think because she endowed with such trust, that we were loath to break it.

Years later my family moved a couple hours north to an even smaller town, and I started dating a guy who was 6 years younger than me. Jody wasn’t old enough to get into the bar so I used to buy us beer and we would sit at his house and watch movies on weekends. At first I was apprehensive when he decided to introduce me to his parents, especially considering our age difference. I fully expected to be met with very frosty and suspicious attitudes, particularly from his mom. I couldn’t have been more wrong. They welcomed me into their home with open arms, and hugs each time I came through the door. Jody’s Mom and I shared a love for cross-stitch and over the year that Jody and I dated, his mom and I exchanged gifts that we’d created for each other. When Jody left for University we agreed that we would part ways. I decided to live by the adage, “If you love something set it free…” His mom and I got together a few times after that but then I moved to another city. We lost touch. I often wonder what happened to Jody, and his amazing parents.

Knowing how I felt about these laudable ladies makes me wonder what kind of Mom I will be as my kids grow older, and hope that even if I have to be the heavy, I will also be hip.