Here we are at the last week of Women’s History Month WCW. I hope you enjoyed it. I mean, I know it’s not my best work, but I thought it was a good idea and I’m sure better things are on the horizon. (no i’m not, but it sounded good, didn’t it?)
This week’s WHMWCW will feature women who aren’t celebrities. They won’t look familiar to you unless you’ve been keeping up with this blog for a while or you’ve been stalking me (in that case, please stop. thanks). I can’t call them women crushes because that would be weird. So, without further ado, my non-crush WCW.
My mom is hands down my best friend. I don’t know what I’d do or where I’d be without her. She’s the Sophia to my Dorothy, the Kris to my Kim. I might not know where I’d be or what I’d do without her, but I can say this, my clothes would be filthy and I’d probably starve. I’d have no one to watch my “stories” with. No one to go on adventures with. No one to come home and tell all of my secrets to. She’s my biggest cheerleader and is always there when I need a shoulder to cry on. I hope that when my time comes I could manage to be half the mother she is. She knows that she has to stay in line, though. Since I’m an only child I get to pick her nursing home.
My mom isn’t the only woman in my family who I am lucky to have. I have a set of the best aunts in the world. They have taught me how to fluff pillows, they’ve patiently and painstakingly helped me choose a Communion dress and calmed me down when I looked like an idiot at my Confirmation. And most importantly, they didn’t kill me when I
cried howled through the night because everyone underestimated my hatred of sleepovers and just wanted to go home.
I’ve said before that I’m an only child. Luckily, the cousin branches on my family tree grow very close together. We’ve kept each other company in the bathroom, they’ve tried to teach me important life skills – like the “I Want It That Way” airport dance (which i still can’t do). We’ve fought with each other, got in trouble together, laughed and cried together. They’re my constants. My definites. They’re probably going to read this and immediately call a priest because I never get this sentimental; I must be possessed.
I am so lucky to call these women mine.