Grandmother and grandkids dancing around birthday cake
Inspiration

Canciones de mi Madre – How Morning Songs Changed How I Spend My Weekends

As a child, my Saturday mornings were loud and lively. I remember waking up to the smell of chorizo con papas filling every room of the house. By the time my bleary eyes and bedhead reached the kitchen, my mom was three songs deep into Javier Solis’s greatest hits.

She’d twirl me around the kitchen wooden spoon still in hand singing at the top of her lungs. And as she caterwauled each note, my face would contort into a cringe and then a reluctant smile. What she lacked in musicality she made up for in ganas.

As the song ended, so would our dance followed by my dad’s mariachi grito from another room and my mother’s melodic laughter. My brother knew better. He didn’t show his face until the breakfast was on the table and it was time to change the CD.

Sitting there at our breakfast nook was the happiest I ever saw my mother. There, surrounded by the ones she loved she served up advice and endless conversation about anything and everything from current events to her favorite childhood memories. Seeing her smile from ear to ear was my favorite pastime as a child, and there wasn’t a thing she said that I didn’t think was absolutely brilliant.

“Power is of two kinds: one is obtained by the fear of punishment and the other by acts of love.”

-Gandhi-

Sonnleitner, M.W. (1985). Gandhian Nonviolence: Levels of Satyagraha. Abhinav
Publications. Retrieved September 16, 2021, from https://tinyurl.com/4x4k964b

It was these moments of ordinary life she created from scratch that brought out her joy and exuberance most. To look at her, you’d never know that this 5’2, 120-pound chaparrita led an entire squadron of servicemen and women. That the voice that barked marching orders at military parades also sang lullabies. That the hands that saluted generals darned holes in socks and clapped after talent shows and piano recitals.

I didn’t think much of it then, but now as a mother myself, I understand that it doesn’t always come easy. When the milk has gone sour and there are dishes to wash and counters to wipe and breakfast to cook, how do mothers find the energy to have anything left to offer the holy little terrors that created the chaos in the first place?

My mother moved mountains Monday through Friday to get to her station in life, and there was so much to be proud of. But there was still a part of her she kept sacred and untouched by the rigors of the world.

I think of her when I’m tired. I think of her when I just want to give up or sleep in or tune out. I think of how in her darkest times and on the days she felt most weak, she still saved her best smiles for her children. And that’s when I get up and turn on the music, crack the eggs, and dust the crumbs off the kitchen table.

In times of trials, I still think of those mornings when she cared for me despite the aches and pains and weariness.

It was when her brass was off that she wielded her real power. When she’d stooped to kiss the little faces smiling up at her or heal hurts both big and small even after a full day’s work.

She’s the one that taught me to cherish the moments because I know I won’t have them forever. And though there’s another family inhabiting that little nook these days, I can go there any time I want in my mind. Where humor and love met and were served up on a plate to be enjoyed by all. My mother saved the song in her heart (the best of who she was) just for us on Saturday mornings.

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