For Mama Pat

This post is Part Three of a 5-day series this week in celebration of Mother's Day.

When I was younger, my family frequented an awesome vacation destination about four and a half hours away. This resort was all-inclusive, with top notch dining, shopping, and entertainment. And I sometimes got to go without my parents, leaving them at the Welcome Center--always on the Mississippi side of the state line, because the Mississippians had the good hospitality to welcome their visitors with a free Coke unlike the Alabamians--and meeting them at the same spot a week later.

Yes, my Mama Pat can make even Jackson, Mississippi, seem like the only place to be.  Our visits to Jackson included trips to the zoo, the mall, the tennis courts (where she dominated), and Mazzio's Pizza.  Our bare feet padded downstairs in the wee hours, quietly so as to not wake our snoozing parents, and found our grandparents already awake and Mama Pat prepared to offer a plethora of breakfast options.  One of the options was scrambling our own egg, which she taught us to do from a young age.  I remember standing on a stool in her kitchen stirring those eggs, feeling oh-so-big.  In the afternoons and evenings, out came board games and puzzles.

Of course, it didn't hurt that we were praised and adored from the moment we walked in her door.  We were the handsomest, smartest, most delightful children God ever put on this earth.  And we still are.  Just ask her.

I have heard a few grandmas lament their geographic distances from their grandkids. And I always tell them the same thing:  it is possible to be very close to your grandchildren from miles away. I know because I have always felt, and been, very close to my Mama Pat. When I got all As on my report card, I skipped into the house to call her.  Every birthday, she and my grandfather were the first to serenade me over the phone. She never missed big events in my life and asked me all about the little ones. In fact, when I knew I wanted to marry Jason years later, she was the first family member I told.

It never mattered that I couldn't walk to her house and eat a snack. I knew that she cared deeply about all the minutiae of my little life. And she still does.

Of course, when she moved to Birmingham a few years ago, and I could stop by for a snack--this time with three little chocolate-milk-consumers in tow--I did not miss an opportunity. It turns out that my children also know exactly how loved (and indulged) they are by Mama Pat. Sara could not have been two before she assessed the situation and decided to always ask Mama Pat for whatever she wanted. It's a smart strategy, and one my uncle has been employing successfully for fifty years.

My Mama Pat can take you in a game of Horse or in any card game. She makes peanut butter candy that will instantly add five pounds to your waistline. She likes to say lovely things like, "Do you want a piece of cake?" or "Come over any time. We will be here." Her house is where I've always loved to be. And in recent years I've discovered that has very little to do with the house.

To my gracious, giving Pat-Pat, a very happy Mother's Day!