My Mother, Richard Dean Anderson

There's been a lot of mom stuff going around in honor of Mother's Day. I am choosing to honor my mother via blog, because she would waterboard me if I put her picture on Facebook. Simply put, Brenda kicks ass. Even though a lot of women cringe at the thought of turning into their mothers, I welcome it. This is fortuitous, as I have been not-so-slowly morphing into a Brenda clone. We are both loud, assertive, obsessively detail oriented, and competitive. Roland and Daniel are lucky, lucky men, right? We are also funny, dependable, modest, and seriously smokin hot. There is one area, though, where my mother totally and singularly rules- she is motherfrickin Macgyver.

When Mama was six or seven, she decided she wanted a swimming pool. It never occurred to her to ask for one, and she wasn't interested in a public pool. Brenda wanted her own, personal in-ground, and she was going to build it herself. She dug for days until she finally had a decent sized hole. I'm not sure exactly how deep it was, but it was deep enough to, well... keep reading. Her work was done and after a big, Louisiana rain, her pool was open for business. It's worth noting that this grand opening coincided with either her first communion or Easter. I can't remember which, but church and a nice dress were involved. Not wanting to get dirty before mass, but unable to wait until after, she decided to fashion a boat out of a large pot. Now as any culinary dredgeman can attest, pot boating is the most efficient way of simultaneously examining the bottom of a body of water and ruining a Sunday dress. I don't know the severity of her punishment, but I do know that to this day, I have never seen my mother in a swimming pool.

By the time Callie and I came along, Mama's ingenuity and common sense were evenly matched. Once, when I was in second grade, my teacher held a "Backwards Day". Everyone was to creatively showcase backwardness, and a winner would be named. (At this time, my ENTIRE elementary school, grades k-4, was housed in ONE gymnasium. What's more backwards than that?) Anyway, I mentioned the contest to my mother as she was putting me to bed the night before. She was shocked that I'd waited until the last minute, but promised she'd think of something. I woke up next morning to find an eerily accurate replica of my head. I wore my HEAD backwards to Backwards Day. Can you believe I didn't win?? Apparently, Mrs Lewis thought I had help with my costume, so she gave the prize to Stacy Mclain who wore her earrings backwards. Whatever.

Similarly, Callie decided at the last minute she wanted to go trick-or-treating one Halloween. Fifteen minutes later, people opened their doors to a little girl in curlers, a robe, and face full of Pond's with a typing paper cigarette dangling from her lips. Standing beside her was store bought Gremlin, but she didn't get nearly as much candy. I guess people couldn't see my- I mean her winning smile behind that plastic mask.

And the hits keep on coming. A few years ago, a storm came through and took out our electricity for several days. We had a full house including several extended family members. I watched my mother prepare a three-course meal using votive candles and a butter knife. And just a few weeks ago, I had a minor surgery. The doctor didn't give me the appropriate dressing, so Mama made one using an ace bandage, some scotch tape, a Target coupon, and a cotton ball.

I could easily make this entry one in a series of love letters to my mother. We speak several times daily, and there is still no one I'd rather war plan with. We love every single moment we spend together. I sincerely pray to have that kind of relationship with my girls one day, although I'll never be able to replicate Mama's resourcefulness.  But who knows, maybe I've got a burgeoning Macgyver Brenda of my own.  Happy Mother's Day!