This week is going to kill me. Perhaps not the best attitude to tote into the week with, but God, that�s how I feel right now. I�ll get through it. Don�t we always? Let�s talk work-case-scenario: I die. Okay, that�s probably not going to happen, everything in comparison to that suddenly doesn�t seem half-bad. At least I have a nice weekend to reflect upon, when I need to escape from my present moment. Every moment of these past few days has taken me light years away from my stresses, and it was a much needed vacation.

I had a great weekend. Went out Friday night with my ladies, S&S, always a blast. Saturday, my eldest sister kidnapped me for lunch and a movie at her place. Best in Show, hysterical movie. Watch it. It�s always fun to hang out with Jane, such a refreshing mix of neurosis meets good intention, my sister IS Elaine from Seinfeld. Always such a joy. Saturday night, went on a date, awe, how cute, Barb, a datesy watesy? Fuck off. I had a good time, went to a spot of mine that I haven�t been to in years. I forgot how much a beautiful view could relax me, and God knows, I really needed relaxing after last week. So, lovely evening, some pretty scenes, some food, some hmm hmm hey hey and I was a happy girl.

Sunday, Mother�s Day, I was up early. Felt great (medicine kicking in, be gone evil sinusitis! GONE!) I was the only one in my family who felt so good. Which is incredibly different from any other family day. Usually, I�m hungover or coming STRAIGHT from a party from the night before when I�m meeting up with family on a Sunday. Yet here, yesterday, I was the only one who was perky and available. Jane�s car was somewhere in PB, she had a night out with her lady friends. Jenny was sick as all hell, sore throat and bed-ridden. Heather wasn�t back from river-rafting. Then there was me: perfect daughter. Wide awake and ready to give my mother my day, show my appreciation for all the years of work, emotions, money, that she put into us. Into me. You know, I have a lot of drama and history that I write about in regards to my mother. But when it comes down to it, bitch did a GREAT job in raising 4 girls. Whatever she did, while my father traveled, away and working to put food on the table, was effective.

We are four of the most loving women I know. And neurotic, and a little bit insane, but see that�s what makes us so much fucking fun! We are tight-knit, taught that we are all we have for life, and because of that, we must be careful never to take each other for granted, never to choose anything over one of us. We learned to appreciate each other. Appreciate love, because as we looked around at our friends, other women with siblings, they weren�t as close, they fought, they didn�t kiss and hug and laugh and cry together, not to the extent that we did. The four of us, in a room, could laugh at nothing for hours. Until we end up crying from all the laughter. Mom taught us that. Mom taught us to be goofy and silly, and even a bit psychotic. And how I love her for that. It was great to see her yesterday, smiling, a beautiful proud woman, walking through the crowd at the mall with her four daughters, all grown, all happy.

Laughing and giggling with us. Watching us talk, move, interact with each other. I caught her, several times, just looking at one of us. And despite her many doubts, her questions to herself, to us, the �did I do right by you girls?� and �did I fuck up?� it is in those looks, when her entire face softens, that I imagine a tiny voice, somewhere, giving her the answers to her questions. And in the deep recesses of her mind, she hears a whisper, �you did great, Maria. You did great.� And somewhere even deeper, she knows that this is true, and she is filled with a humble pride, that she, someone she never thought capable of anything, could make such an accomplishment. That she, someone who has confused love with so many things � abuse, dependency, addiction � could create pure love, unconditional love, love that multiplies by four, only to be multiplied over and over by her offspring. She doubted herself. And somehow, still succeeded.

It was during lunch, when she had that look on her face, as if she was finally listening to the whispers, the praises for a job well done, that I grabbed her hand under the table. Holding it tightly in mine, I looked her in the eyes and said, �I love you, Mom.� And her response was the most beautiful thing I ever could have wished to hear on such a day, the most spectacular miracle that I could envision witnessing. She said, �You know, Barb, I�m beginning to love me too.� You don�t know what that means. But I do. More than you could ever know. That is the kind of moment that has my eyes wet now, from relief, from hope, from happiness, just at the thought, the memory, the look on her face as she said it, the look that says "I mean it." And that means everything.

-Barbarella

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