Noon Lady

Alyssa for openphoto.net

I remember standing with Mom before the front door in my pink snow suit, holding her hands and shivering, not from the cold Minnesota air, but from fear.  The school bus was coming—the bus that would take me away from the comfort and security of my home to a place less warm and familiar, a place I was still getting used to.  School.

Mom prayed with me every day before school to ease my fears of getting bad grades, being bullied, and of missing the bus home.  Because my dad had died when I was four, I was a fragile little girl, and this was the extra boost I needed to get me through the day.

I eventually adjusted to school and made friends, but that didn’t make me any less excited when I entered elementary school where Mom worked as a paraprofessional.  She was also what the kids had dubbed a “noon lady,” which meant she monitored recess in the morning and after lunch.  Having Mom at school meant spontaneous hugs in the hallway, lemon drops covertly slipped from the pocket of her soft, white Eskimo jacket into my hand on the playground, and even an occasional pop from the teacher’s lounge in place of milk at lunchtime.  It also meant I had someone to quiz me on my spelling words one last time before the bell rang, a shoulder to cry on if a test went poorly, and the immediate “no” I was looking for when a boy asked me to the homecoming game and I was too shy to accept his invitation (though Mom would’ve let me go if I’d wanted to). 

Most of my classmates probably would’ve avoided their moms if they’d worked at the school, but I would’ve strolled with her arm-in-arm the entire recess hour if allowed.  Sometimes, she even had to shoo me away, but I never felt unwelcome.  It was always such a comfort just knowing she was there.

When I got older and moved onto Jr. High, Mom continued to encourage me with her presence by writing my name on my brown paper lunch bags in her distinct, loopy, cursive writing, by tucking notes written on napkins in amongst the sandwiches and cookies, and by attending nearly all of my cross-country and track meets, whether in town or out of town.  Even as a senior, I requested Mom continue writing my name on my lunch bags, always dotting the “i” with a heart, because that was the way she did everything, punctuating my days with love, and still does.   

I love you, Mom!  Happy birthday!