I don’t remember too many occasions when she sat still.

Every action involved at least two activities: a walk out to the backyard to call us in for dinner would result in a weed-pulling stopover in the deliciously landscaped flower garden that she had nurtured into flourishing beauty over the years; preparing meals (never, ever out of a box) was a multi-tasking extravaganza; handwork occurred while offering homework assistance, and while the rest of us watched The Ed Sullivan Show, she viewed from behind the ironing board.

My mom was a marvel – and not necessarily for being a homemaking goddess and brilliant cook, nor the incredible public school’s kindergarden teacher that she was, or dealing with the five of us and the intricate quirks of our different personalities, or supporting Dad in his teaching profession of those at the other end of the spectrum (college students). She was a marvel for teaching us the names of the birds at the feeders on the back porch, playing softball in the yard and demonstrating her wiry southpaw pitch; for facilitating spontaneous dance lessons through the living room, laughing out loud every day, showing tears but seldom anger, and making it abundantly clear every single day – somehow, either in words or actions – that life is to be embraced on all levels – from the mundane to the divine – with hope and love.

This was meant to be a mother’s day blog – but in my own neck-deep (occasionally over my head) immersion into motherhood, some things don’t happen according to the Hallmark calendar. It hardly matters…there isn’t a day that isn’t in some way calling to be honored as a “mother’s” or a “father’s” day.

So here’s to the woman who rarely sat still, yet is cemented into my heart –