Mothers Day

      Mother's Day 2020. A weird kind of day in a weird time of humankind.
      On my first Mother's Day as a mother, I had only been a mother for a week and a half, having had Emily on May 1, 1985. I was kinda overwhelmed to say the least.
      I can't say motherhood came naturally to me. Being a reporter came naturally. It fits right in with me being a typically snarky, pushy, sarcastic Jersey Girl. Being a mother was something I had to work at. All in all, I think I did a pretty good job. My kids all have masters degrees and none of them have tattoos, so there's that. 
      None of them have, however, made me a grandmother, a fact of which I remind them rather often. I do have my "value added" granddaughters, my oldest's step-daughters, whom I totally love, but, still. . .
      The thing is, mothers aren't necessarily biological mothers. Two of my kids' friends call me "Second Mom" and have for years. Because, let's face it, there are people young folks sometimes need to talk to when they really don't want to talk to their moms. That doesn't mean they have done anything wrong necessarily. It just means they want to talk to someone who isn't likely to be judgemental. 
       I'm pretty good at non-judgemental. 
       On Mother's Day, of course I miss my mom. I had her for a lot longer than most people, since she lived to 94. But, that doesn't mean I miss her any less. 
       I had my Aunt Vicky until she was 93 and I miss her too. She was my father's sister and I always felt she would have my back no matter what. Aunts can be very important.
        Apparently, they leave an indelible mark, too. A friend of my Emily's was brushing her hair in my kitchen and I told her that NOBODY brushes her hair in MY kitchen. Emily didn't miss a beat, she said: "Ok, it's official, you've become Aunt Vicky."
        And I am proud of that. 
        Of course, many aunts are honorary.
       This is my first Mother's Day without Aunt Marie, who was everybody's Aunt Marie. You never knew who or what was going to be in her kitchen. There was always action at the big round table in the house at the end of James Drive in Mount Arlington. Always wine in her refrigerator, also known as The Bermuda Triangle. Always laughter and good conversation. 
      Always chaos. It's probably  one of the main reasons I thrive on chaos, which has served me well having three kids close in age, living across the street from our town's elementary school, working as a journalist and, especially, being active in the Society of Professional Journalists. (No offense, SPJers, but you guys produce great quantities of chaos.)
       My kids have honorary aunts, too. For years, my youngest loved to do her back-to-school shopping with Aunt Donna in Vermont. Nothing like searching for jeans and t-shirts with dead rock stars on them in the thrift shops near Dartmouth College. 
        So to all the mothers, aunts, "second moms," honorary aunts, dog and cat and horse moms and women who are now mothering their own moms, Happy Mother's Day. This weird time won't last forever.