I may not have had a mother growing up, but I had a wonderful female role model in my grandmother. Bridget Lucy Taylor. Born in 1912 and passing at 98 years old. An Italian American immigrant who was chasing the American dream. My grandmother was very graceful and feminine in her young days. She wore such fancy pinup styled hair and dresses. The types you see girls trying to pull together today. In my memories of her, although she struggled with walking and chores as she aged, she would always leave the house with full hair and makeup. She packed our lunches every day for school. Made sure we had our homework done. She loved my art. Her and my grandfather bought me my first camera. She loved reading all the boring stories I would write. And she let me put on plays for her. She was one of the first people I told when I was pregnant Ashlie. And she never judged me for having a baby at 17. She loved all my friends growing up and welcomed them in with open arms. She baked lasagna, and made the best sausage and meatballs. She was married to my grandfather for nearly 70 years. She was a military wife, and only had one child, my father. She traveled around the US with my grandpa until my dad was school aged. She was the one family and friends would go to when they needed to talk. She would listen without speaking and always made you feel like your opinions were valid.
I miss her a lot. Her love, her kindess, and her wisdom. Happy Mother's Day, Grandma.
I get a little tired of people who assume that just because you have kids, you are automatically completely uncool, and that all your time is spent wiping babies from head to toe, giving spit baths, criticizing their every move, volunteering for PTA, blogging in your spare time, clipping coupons before crock potting a pot roast, ironing the clothes, bleaching the whites, mopping the floors, harvesting your eggs, sewing for your etsy shop, scrapbooking the little things, taking pictures of everything they do, saving for college, reading Dr. Suess, socializing at the bus stop, sweeping the floor, laughing over coffee with your jogging stroller, wearing your birkenstocks and listening to Baby Einstein.
Just because I DO THESE THINGS OCCASIONALLY.
Does not mean for one second that sometimes I don’t just want to be a kick ass girl with streaks in her hair, a ring in her nose, a tattoo on her arm, concert tickets in her purse, vodka in her fridge, a leather mini-skirt in her closet, her best single friends and a standing reservation for Las Vegas once a year with a don’t ask don’t tell policy, and the desire to just once be seen as more than the mother of 5 kids. Sometimes I just want to be seen as a “Maggie”. A “Maggie” with an extremely adorable set of children… (I joke, but sometimes it's hard to over come labels. )