Recognition

My girls know me.  They know me.  The way my voice rises at a much slower rate than my eyebrow.  The way the hollow of my collar bone smells at the end of the day.  That the speed of my step is exactly 42% faster than theirs, except Eva who could be lapped by a slug on a humid day.  They know how much coffee it takes to make me manageable and that they must always always leave me at least three shrimp from the platter.  They know me because I'm their mama and they know me in a way they can only share with each other.

Sometimes I forget I knew someone like that as well.

This morning I remembered, and it brought me back to her shadow.

I knew her.  And today, from half a country away and two different sides of a problem, we have forgotten each other.

Maybe if I called her "mom" one more time, all this ugly would heal.

If I saw the sharpness of the chin that jabbed my collar the time she hugged me at the airport.

If she said my name maybe I'd hear something different.  Some bit of recognition.  Something that would take the sting out of the last conversation we had.  The last time I knew her.

The gravel of her voice.  The distance in her eyes.  The laugh that showed no real humor.  The sadness in her steps.

My girls would recognize me in a crowd of a hundred brown haired, brown eyed, cranky women simply by the curve of my right cheek.  

Would I recognize her in a room of ten?  Would she know me in a room of three?

And would it matter if we did?

Today I wish I could find out.

Contact list

I go through my daughter's phone about once every couple of weeks.  This is a practice I am fully justified in doing for multiple reasons.  The main one being I know the difference between this is a great pic/message to send and nope....don't want this one wallpapering the halls of my Presidential Library.  Of course, vodka moves the standard line several feet - this is why I lock my phone every other Saturday night.

Anyway, in my random perusing, I've yet to find anything her mama...wait that's me!...would have a problem with.

In fact, last night I found something that made me so proud I almost woke her up to high five.

My girl has begun the process of assigning nicknames to people who matter.  It brings a sarcastic little tear to my eye to see "needs mental help" and "the psychopath" on her contact list.

I have been dubbed "life giver".  And, that's right, what I giveth I occasionally threaten to taketh away.

People.  This may be my proudest mama moment so far because, if you matter to me, you are not in my phone under the good name your mama gave you.  If you matter at all (good or bad) you are

#1 uncle

8 pack

Billie Jean

Redbull

Dear Leader

Eyebrows

Get Some Dignity

Holliday 

Lamb

Abs

Mother Google Earth

My Nerd

Price Chopper

Sunshine

Sexy Swede

Town Cryer

And several variations of no ranging from Absolutely Not to In case of Emergency Break Glass

Just to name a few.

You may not have memorized a number since the early 90s, but I can't remember a single legal name to put as a reference on job applications.  Well, maybe a few, but they wouldn't give me a rave review - that's why I still know what their Grandma calls them.

And now I can see my incredible wisdom taking shape on my eldest's phone. It makes my chest swell to see how well I'm doing at this parenting thing.  I may even change myself to "oh wise one" just to see how long it takes her to figure out who is calling.

Dear Sofia,

Fourteen years of these letters and I still never know how to start yours.

You were my first love at first sight.  My first grown up steps happened only shortly before your first wobbly ones.  You, my gorgeous girl, will always be my first happiness.  And that isn't only because you are my oldest child.  It's because you are happiness.  

Big things have happened this year, and you have handled each with the awkward grace I envy.  Your heart-deep laugh has carried us through some days we shouldn't have seen.  And that, among many other reasons, is why your sisters and I are so lucky to have you.

I couldn't be more proud that, despite every mistake I've made and every learning curve I've carved into our relationship, you have never been anything less than astounding.  You are a singular force, mija.  And no one can take credit for that but you.

Fourteen years ago, the nurse handed me a black haired beauty with no expectations and no plans.  I am so grateful I didn't know then where you were headed - I would've been too intimidated to call you mine.  

Thank you.  For making me look good.  For leading the way.  For being the band nerd I never knew I wanted.  For reading Jane Austen when other girls are sneaking around doing things you thankfully haven't dreamt of yet.  For loving me back.

Always,

Mama