Celebrating Mother’s day made me think about all the times my Dad had to be a Mom. He was good at getting us dressed, braiding our hair and wiping our tears. I am laughing remembering the total horror of finding myself in need of “Feminine Products” one weekend spent with Dad. I told him we needed to make an emergency run to the Drug Store. I was mortified. I wanted my Mom. Dad, as usual turned the whole experience int o an adventure.He loudly informed the nice woman at the cash register that the Tampax were not for his daughter standing beside him trying to disappear into thin air but were in fact for himself. He listed a multiple of uses ending with my favorite, for bloody noses. I actually laughed. We left the store and went into another one next door to buy albums. (If you are reading this and not sure what an album is I will explain another time) and then ended our journey into young womanhood with an ice cream. My Dad was good at being a Mom.
But nobody did it like my Mom. I am still amazed we made it through unscathed. She was definitely not June Cleaver (again if you have no idea who June Cleaver is the question has to be asked, Why are we friends?) and for that I am extremely grateful. She is living, walking proof that not being a perfect Mom is the only way to be a perfect Mom.