Napa Valley Register Editorial: Memories for Mother's Day

Mother's Day has a tendency to sneak up on all of us; just behind the festivities Cinco de Mayo — that most American of Mexican holidays — and just before Memorial Day — or BottleRock, if you partake.

Perhaps that's a bit like mothering in general: so deeply important and vital to our physical and mental well-being, but far too often toiling in the background, the countless hours of work, worry and sleepless nights simply part of the title.

Our board recognizes that families come in all shapes and sizes. So, however, you celebrate — whether it be with mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, grandparents, older siblings, other caregivers, etc. — please let the people around who have loved and cared for you know they are appreciated.

This holiday is so much more than cards, flowers and brunch, though you'd be forgiven if that's mostly what it seems like these days. In an attempt to bring back the deeper spirit of the day, the editorial board has decided to share their memories of their own mothers — or their experiences in being one. (And, in the spirit of combating misinformation, the holiday was not invented by the greeting card industry, but by Anna Jarvis in 1908 to honor her own mother, a Civil War nurse. She did, however, disown her creation in 1920, frustrated by its morphing into its current commercial form.)

Here are some of those memories:

When I was about 4 years old, my Mom created a book from photographs and construction paper whose plot, so to speak, was her getting me ready to go to preschool called "Mommy and Me." Looking at the photographs of that brown Datsun and a dirt-only front yard — barren because we had just moved in a year prior — teleports me back the rust-colored carpeting we used to have, the struggles I would have with her if my favorite shirt happened to be dirty, and even the tiny glass bowls of soup we would get for lunch at that preschool. It's one of my most prized possessions, and an indelible snapshot of a time in my life that would have otherwise faded to nothing. So, thank you Mom. You probably had no idea that it would mean so much four decades later. (Dan Evans)

My Mom was a champion for her four children. When her marriage of 19 years ended in 1960 with my dad's adultery, she moved us all from New Jersey to Alabama on a Greyhound bus to be near a sister for emotional and childcare support. We were one traumatized family. My mom hadn't worked since World War II. Us children knew next to nothing about the rural South. Where to begin to pick up the pieces of shattered family life? Mom hit the ground running. She rented a house, bought her first car and got a full-time nursing job at a hospital nearly an hour's drive away. Her first month on the job, a semi rammed the rear of her Plymouth Valiant, destroying it, but leaving mom and my 5-year-old brother unscathed. She was often exhausted by the demands put on her, but she never quit working to provide a secure home for her children. What she did for us after dad's abandonment was heroic. (Kevin Courtney)

Resilience and perseverance are the words that come to mind when I think of my Mom. She wanted nothing more than to be a Mom, and probably got more than she bargained for when she had twins and two additional babies, totaling four girls, within an age span of three years. Her life changed when divorce happened and she became a single mother with children between the ages of 10 and 13. We didn’t always make it easy for her, but despite the challenges she encountered, she raised four strong, independent women. She will always be an inspiration to me, and I miss her still today. (Cindy Webber)

I think of my Mom every time I eat canned tuna with mayo (when the cupboards are bare), cucumber salad (as often as possible) and Jello (rarely). Those were her staples. She was a terrible cook, but with five kids and a husband to feed plus having a full-time job as a furrier, it was all she could do to get something edible on the table. We didn’t know how unimaginative her repertoire was until later in our lives when we began to discover such delicacies as a fresh avocado, a steamed artichoke and the amazing tastes of sashimi. (In the raw fish category, only lox on a bagel would pass muster.) My Mom was my secret ally. With two older sisters and two younger brothers, I played the “neglected” middle child and negotiated my own room and my own phone. To this day, I credit my Mom with having the good sense and unconditional love to just let me be who I grew into. Thank you, Mom — miss you! (Evy Warshawski)

My mother has spent most of her life being a mother, and with my younger sister set to graduate from Vallejo High School next month, it will mark the end of an era (she raised four children). Even though she will always be our mother, it will be interesting to see how her life is once the nest is empty. I hope she will find new happiness and fulfillment with her husband of 32 years (who you will hear more about when the board shares memories for Father’s Day) and transition to being a grandmother to my brother’s two children. Thank you for all the laughs, haircuts, spaghetti and sewing jobs over the years. Happy Mother’s Day! (Sarah Dowling)

During my career as a preschool teacher, the families I served had a variety of make ups — from families with one mom, one dad, a cat, and a dog to families with same sex parents to families with a grandparent as the primary caregiver to families with foster caregivers. The beautiful, diverse tapestry of what a family could be lent us to create our own definition of family [Families are made up of the people (and animals!) who you love and care for and who love and care for you!] and our own traditions around holidays like Mother’s Day and Father’s Day [If you want to explore an inclusive alternative try Grown Ups Who Love You Day!]. As an oldest daughter, former teacher and now a mom of two, caregiving has been such an important, wonderful part of my life. I know I wouldn’t be the “Grown Up Who Loves You” I am today without the impact of my own mom, grandmother, teachers, and the other formal and informal caregivers who surrounded me in love and care over the years. (Lilea Heine)

My mother, the parent who "talked me through insecure moments." As a freshman at UCLA, each time I had a midterm or final, I was petrified that I would flunk out. Sobbing, I would call my Mom to talk me down off the precipice. It worked. l made it through the scary freshman year with her constant encouragement. My mother, the athlete. She excelled in several sports, including getting close to the title of Olympic swimmer. My athletic family used to tease me that they had switched my baby bracelet in the hospital, because I was so uncoordinated. Where did I come from?! Mom, a beloved high school P.E. teacher, instilled a love of "teaching" in her 5-year-old daughter. I knew from that early age, that there was no other career path I would follow; it was in my DNA. I HAD to be a teacher because my intuitive, wise mother planted and nurtured that seed. She was so right. (Donna Altes)

An early memory was the day my Mom told me that she was not my “real” mom. She said that I would probably never meet my “real” mom, but that I should love her nonetheless — especially for having the courage to travel from France to San Francisco to give birth to me and the courage to arrange for someone to adopt me. I don’t think I really understood for some years that my mom was not my “real” mom, nor could I grasp why my birth mom would not keep me. I often wondered about my birth mom, but honestly, my adopted mom always felt like my “real” mom. Most importantly, she loved me with all her heart (as did my adopted dad and my adopted sister). I never did meet my “real” mom, but I did forgive her for not keeping me. After all, I had the best mom one could hope for, a mom who taught me that love is not always bound by blood and that not all who give birth can be good mothers. I miss my mom, my dad, my sister. Our family never shared blood, but were always bound by love. (Annette Dambrosio)