It's good to know a mom
Kristin Johnson

When I was in college, my mom would show up and surprise me with a pan of my favorite bars. And, she’d let me use her car and the Amoco card and never said anything about how much I charged. At night my sisters and I would pile on top of her bed and talk about our days. That was when we were little.

As I grew up, I’m sorry to say she really started to bug me. I wanted to move and be on my way before things got really ugly.

“Dinner will be ready at six.”

“Me and Jan are going to the movies,” I said.

“Jan and I.”

“What?”

“It’s Jan and I are going.”

Finally, I got my own place. I had an apartment, my OWN space, with no one there to correct me.

But the kitchen wasn’t quite as warm without a pot roast cooking in the Crock Pot. And there was no rhubarb crisp baking in the oven.
A few years have passed and now I have several friends who are moms. And I’m starting to notice things. I’m starting to notice that it's good to know a mom.

“Here I brought you something.” It was a handful of homemade peanut butter cookies in a Zip-lock baggie. As I ate the cookies, I thought, it’s good to know a mom.

I got in to work the other day and something was sitting on my computer-- a Valentine card. I thought about how my mom used to send me Valentine cards, but I never sent one back. I just always thought that it was nice to get.

I made plans with another friend. When I called to confirm, she said,“Dinner will be at six.”

And still another one always listens to me worry. “I’m having this pain in my chest.” She always assures me, “Stop worrying. You’re going to be fine.”

Maybe now that I’m grown up, my mom needs me—I hadn’t thought that it should work that way. Maybe she just needs a hug, a call for no reason, someone to listen, homemade cookies, or a card.

I picked up the phone. “Can you come over?” I said. “Dinner will be ready at six.”