More Than A Rose- Shout Out To My Mom

“Oh, its 5 o’clock?” asked the disheveled teen behind the counter as she stared quizzingly at the invoice handed to her.

What do you mean?! Its 5:20!  You’re saying my order isn’t ready?”

A tall man with a nutmeg complexion and a few extra pounds on a solid strong build looked as though he would burst at any moment.  I could almost hear a newly restored Fast and Furious engine roaring within him as he hummed menacingly while trying to maintain his composure.

Disheveled Girl just continued to stare at the invoice as if she could will the time to change.  (She may have even been attempting to change the date with her David Blane mind trick!)

The woman ahead of Angry Nutmeg Man was a poor soul whose floral arrangement was gone.  It vanished!  (This floral shop sure was good at tricks.)

I stood there attempting to be patient.  Who was I kidding? I just worked a 8 hour work day, sat in traffic for an hour, exhausted my last secret stash of money for this ginormous holiday, and now I was waiting on a short line in a tiny floral shop NOT because I was still mothers day shopping but because I told my sister I would grab the final piece to her special surprise. In my work clothes, hot (77 degrees today), and absolutely exhausted I waived my white flag and walked out of the shop.  (Seemed as though I walked out just in time because I heard Angry Nutmeg Man yelling something about making his own floral arrangement.)

I sat in the car brainstorming out loud  while passersby glanced into my vehicle obviously trying to determine whether I was insane.  I considered all my options, “CVS…Walgreens…Rite Aid…Mobil…Hustle Man…”

All I needed was a single red rose.

So there I was, The Procrastination Princess, with no rose and less than 24 hours…

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

My mother is a woman of immeasurable strength, insurmountable levels of patience, and the resilience of an athlete who was injured but has to make a speedy recovery right before a championship game. At a petite 5’1″ frame, its her smile that captures you. Her voice (a 1st soprano in her church choir) is beautiful when accompanied by any instrument, intimidating when she’s angry, and the transportation device for infectious laughter if that’s the mood that suits her at the moment.  She can be slightly sarcastic but more than anything she is supportive.  My soul weeps for anyone who doesn’t have at least one person who believes in them just a little bit more than they believe in themselves.  They say parenting doesn’t come with an instruction manual.  Well, my mother must have downloaded a how-to book off of the internet.

It’s not like I was a difficult child, adolescent or adult (at least I don’t think so) but I know it wasn’t always easy.  I’m stubborn, occasionally egotistical, non-punctual, and I spent a good portion of my life as a “daddy’s girl.”  As a “creative aspiring jack of all trades”, I resist authority and therefore have been every type of professional there is!  I was a personal trainer, a file clerk, sales associate, phlebotomist, student, theater instructor, muay thai kickboxer, YOU NAME IT!  Yet, every time I decided to take another road or try something different, my mother was right there with one eyebrow raised…a hot meal in one hand…and her checkbook in the other hand (just in case.)

She’s never been mushy or over affectionate.  That’s not how she shows her love.

My mother is the epitome of love.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Sharp left turn…

At a stop light I see a mother and daughter team packing up a Uhaul van with stuffed animals, balloons, and other novelties.  Near the curb there is a white bucket with what seems like the last single red rose.  A sign is on the bucket that reads , “For Sale.”

I roll the window down and yell, “Maam?”

A plump fair-skinned woman addresses me and asks if there is something I wanted to buy.  I told her that I desperately needed that red rose in the bucket.  The woman told me the price and asked her daughter to wrap it for me.  As I watched the little girl wrap the rose with pride, I couldn’t help but feel like I should get something else even though my sister only asked for the rose.  As if she was reading my mind (that magic and trickery must have been going around), the plump-fair-skinned-angel-sent-from-above told her daughter to add “something special.”  I gave the woman her money and thanked her as many times as I could before the light turned green again.  She handed me the red rose with a bear attached. When I got home I read the t-shirt the bear was wearing and it said, “Thank you.”

My mother is the epitome of love and she deserves more than a rose.

Happy Mother’s Day To All

 

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1 Comment

  1. First I must say I love your comparison of food colors to people’s skin tone, second I’m amazed every time at how descriptive you are with your stories. I always feel as though I’m there. And lastly who are you fooling, you’re the queen of procrastination, sorry to destroy your alliteration ;). Great story! And yes your mother does deserve more, hope she enjoyed her million dollar rose.

    Like

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