Ode.

She turned down Jesus to raise a family. That's confidence, folks.


One Christmas, I took the cheapskate route and gave my wife (then girlfriend) my version of the story of us. The following is the last installment of that body of work.


I hope I’m good at raising kids one day, you said out of nowhere.

Who knows what spawned the thought? Maybe memories from a few hours earlier when you were playing with your three-year-old niece.

There is no doubt you’ll be a good mother. Absolutely. No. Doubt.

I’ve never met a child who didn’t grin unbearably after a little attention from you. Not a single one.

You teach your niece with ease. You laugh with her, fit in with her, relate to her with grace. Absolute grace.

Though you have career ambitions and energy to give to other people’s children, you say you were born to be a mother. Not in a way that suggests you have no other talents, in a way that suggests it will be your ultimate talent. Your masterpiece.

I’m looking forward to watching you and helping you raise children if we are so lucky. It’s always been one of the deal makers for me: I can picture you as a mother to my children, as by my side when I’m 90-years-old. You’ll make a great buddy at the senior center, no doubt.

And as your grandmother brought you great sadness when she died, you will do the same for your grandchildren, nieces and nephews. You are one of those people. You’re a favorite to many, including me.

Just like I suspect your Mama Jo did, I think you want it to be like that. You know how to be the favorite for those you really favor. You know the quick way in and you endure. If you like someone, they’re gonna be all right.

You love hard. You give hard. You feel hard.

You are soaked in life and especially love. You may possibly be love’s number one fan, its biggest advocate in the face of cynicism.

Besides all those great things, you make people better.

They laugh. They loosen up. They love.

It’s simple but it wasn’t like that before I met you. Sometimes it takes someone showing you how to be shamelessly silly.

So my kids, should they ever come to be, are lucky. They don’t even know it yet, but they’re so far ahead of other kids that it’s unfair.

They will have a mother who is a one-of-a-kind friend, stern but fair, smart but doesn’t put on heirs (ever), the best teacher I’ve ever met, a strong role model with a clear idea of what’s right and wrong, and one of the funniest, most fun to be around people you will ever meet.

She speaks her mind yet doesn’t offend. She communicates yet gives space.

If she loves you, she will stick up for you. She constantly defends her 20-pound, balding house cat from my creative insults. Her love ignores aesthetics. She holds him tight, calls for him when he’s not near, and endures all his fatness and shedding.

To answer your out-of-the-blue question about parenting, absolutely yes. If you aren’t a good mother, there are no good mothers.