Some Tough Mothers.

I want to thank you for reading. I had a few people come up to me and compliment me on this blog, and it tickled me. This started out as a strangely public outlet (like Livejournal, but way less drama and cyrillic script), but you, beautiful and fabulous readers, have become a motivation to keep it going. Thank you.

You're probably sitting at brunch thinking, "Oh, here comes another post about how much Rachel loves her mom, and how they've managed to keep their footing on continuously crumbling ground, and look fabulous while doing it."

First, get off your phone. You're at mother's day brunch. Did you buy her a plant? (You should have bought her a plant.)

Second, you're damn right this is a "Look At How Fortunate I Am In The Face Of A Shitstorm" post.

However, I'm not just going to wax rhapsodic about my mom. There are others who deserve it, too.

I am fortunate to have come from a long line of strong, complex women. My grandmother Eleanor was my first fashion and glamour educator, and was one of the most dichotomous people I've ever come across.

Grandma Mitzvah, 2006. Always Fashionable, Even While Pretending To Cook.

Here was an incredibly savvy business woman, the owner of a designer clothing shop in Sheepshead Bay for forty years, a single mother in an era where that was unheard of...who was frightened of water. And cats. And bicycles.

True story: she wouldn't stay at my mom's house when she visited from New York because she was terrified of my cat, Tootsie.

Eleanor grew up in a time where women were supposed to stay in the kitchen (thank god she didn't; she could do a lot of things, but wasn't the "Cooking Grandma" type) and stay quiet, with no ambition. Like she did so many times in her life, she bucked tradition and followed her own path. She was wily, determined, stylish and chic, and a great role model. Plus, she was a looker. She died in 2009 at 92, elegant to the end.

When I think about the people who shaped my personality, Eleanor and Sharon are obviously at the front. They set me up for my own motherhood adventure, which has been going strong for five years. I remember discussing "bonding" with your newborn with other parents, and I never understood. My child has been a part of me for forever.

I mean, I never even dropped her as a baby.

Tough Love.

We conceived Norah not long after my grandmother's death. My pregnancy was fortunately effortless, and although labor was stressful (someone yukked, "That's why they call it labor" after I had her, and they almost lost a scrotum) and resulted in a C-section, I got a gorgeous, healthy, charming daughter, who surprises me every day.

I never expected a child of mine to be an asshole, but her kindness is unparalleled. When I told her that Grandma Sharon was going to have surgery to hopefully cure her cancer, she jumped into my arms and squeezed the air out of me, her forehead pressed against mine, and her smile shooting right into my heart.

Months earlier, I had taken her to Ashley's Ice Cream, and gently told her about cholangiocarcinoma, respecting her intelligence by telling her the truth. Rather than deflect, she asked me about the liver, what it does, how it functions in the body (in less sophisticated terms, of course), and if grandma was going to die. I paused before saying, "I don't know."

Norah took a bite of chocolate ice cream. It leaked out of the corner of her lip as she said, "Well, I hope she doesn't."

Yoga With Grandma, 2012

Raising a female in this world can seem terrifying. The government wants to dictate what she can and cannot do with her reproductive organs, the threat of assault and harassment is everywhere, and I'm worried about her compassion being seen as a weakness as she progresses through school. I've told her that all we can do is carve out a small part of a big world, and do our best to improve it.

Showing Off Our Abs (Well, one of us), Summer 2014

I'm still riding the "Mom's Having Surgery To Cut That Sucker (Apropos!) Out" high. I'll be in Virginia in a little over 24 hours, armed with my Helicopter Daughter mentality. Sharon should be in the hospital for five days, then released into my care (mua ha haaa) while she recovers. She quipped, "You'll be the only nursing student who's treated a post-op liver resection."

A little liquid cement on the crumbling ground. Just for today.

It'll be hard to leave Norah for weeks, but my mother wrote something to me in her perfect, Catholic school cursive that I was never able to forge, in a mother's day card to me:

"It comforts me so much to see you love your daughter as deeply as I love you. and, when she becomes a mother, you will know an amazing love for her child.

This is the life cycle.

I love you,

Always,

Mommy"

Happy Mother's Day from the Mitzvahs!