Mother is No. 1 on my list

Happy birthday, Mom!

When I realized my column was going to fall on Mom’s birthday, I had a decision to make: Write about her and risk getting cut out of the will, or worse — get on Her List.

If I don’t take this opportunity, it will be another five years (my husband the calendar man tells me) until her birthday falls on a Sunday.

Of course, it would have been nice if I had decided before the absolute last minute that I was going to write this, but that’s the way I roll. Mom is a self-proclaimed procrastinator, too, so she’ll understand.

She’s also my biggest fan and always has been. (And my brother’s, but he’s a doctor, so that’s a given.)

When I got my first journalism job at 20 years old, she took a picture of me on my first day and taped it on paper next to a picture of my first day of school. She tells everyone that her daughter is a writer, and they had better be impressed. Once, she stood in line for a book signing of some national author, and the woman responded coolly when Mom told her I write a column. I think the woman is now on Her List.

People usually don’t get on Her List for saying or doing anything to her — but do not mess with her family. She will never forget. Ne-ver.

My mother is the most loyal person I know. She has friends she’s had since elementary school, and when the mother of a longtime friend died recently, the friend called Mom for her to help go through the woman’s belongings to organize and clean.

I’ve made a lot of jokes through the years about my mother’s cleaning abilities. You may think I exaggerated when I made comments like “Her kitchen floor is so clean, you could do surgery on it,” but just barely. My husband likes to tell people that one time he got up in the night to go to the bathroom, and when he came back, she’d made his bed.

I have always admired her superior cleaning and organizational skills, and I did not inherit them, although she taught me at a young age how to clean house.

She ingrained in me that if you’re going to do something, do it right. Doing something halfway didn’t cut it when I was growing up.

We sort of grew up together. I have a young mother, and I’ve always been happy about that. My friends thought she was cool, and she was and is, and she’s funny. I get my sense of humor from her, probably my writing skills, my integrity and work ethic, for sure.

After college, she returned and earned her master’s degree, going to school while she was pregnant with my younger brother. She was a special-education teacher for 35 years, and yes, it takes a special person. She made a difference in so many kids’ lives and was a role model for students and other teachers. (Trust me, if all teachers were like her, we’d have no crisis in education.)

When my brother got the chance to go to Scotland when he was in college, Mom taught adult-education classes at night to earn extra money. Once, she paid for me to go to cheerleading clinic — when I wasn’t even a cheerleader. She spent hours putting my hair up in a bun when I was a majorette, went to my games, my band concerts, etc., etc., etc.

When I went into early labor with my firstborn and had to be hospitalized, she was there for me every minute. She’s the best grandmother anybody could ever want, too.

The list goes on. And, Mom, you’re at the top of mine.

Senior writer Tammy Keith can be reached at (501) 327-0370 or tkeith@arkansasonline.com.

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