i remember my mother's...

i remember my mother's prickly legs. i was four and grazed my arm against that cactus leg as my feet floated across the soft orange fuzz of the 70's bathroom carpet. I barely remember my mother's voice. I haven't heard it in 26 years. But when I listened to it on a cassette tape writing my Master's thesis about her two years ago, I felt loved. She was standing above my crib cooing to me, her first daughter, the only child of her marriage to my father, the older man who she lured from a 20-year marriage and five children. The fact that I was born accidentally, three years into their marriage, because she'd forgotten to take birth control one night, meant that their union had purpose. In the depths of depression after her father died, my mother could not connect to her purpose. But I remember her legs, that she did not shave every day. I remember the sensation of being in the cool water of a pool with her. I remember her yellow bikini, her short, curly, dark brown hair. I remember the soft skin beneath the stubble. I remember her orange gum. I remember we had to run errands. I remember not understanding that word yet and going anyway. I remember that she would buy me a gift every time we would buy a gift for a birthday party. I remember I was jealous when we bought someone else a gift. I remember that my favorite foods were hot dogs, macaroni and cheese, and fish. I remember her introducing me to plums. I remember she didn't want me to eat Lucky Charms. I remember she took me to ballet lessons while she did aerobics in the next room. I remember she was proud of me at my tap and ballet recital. I remember walking across the blue carpeting at daycare on our way out. I remember my mother loved our dog Tanya. I remember that I would wake up in the morning and go to her bed, and Tanya would be snuggled on her side, and we would get Tanya to jump down so I could be in that space. I remember my mom ironed on butterflies to her bedspread. I remember she loved the way they looked. I remember that yellow was my mom's favorite color. I remember Christmases with my mom, Grandma, Grandpa, Kyle, and my dad. I remember they were rich and full. I remember getting a stuffed pig with little piglets that attached to the teets with velcro on their mouths. I remember it was my Grandpa's last Christmas and that I wore a country western outfit my Grandma gave me. I rode it on the rocking horse he gave me. I got Barbie horses for Christmas, a black one called Midnight and a yellow one called Dallas. I remember my Grandpa was bald, and he loved me. I remember my Grandma had short, white curly hair, and she loved me. She cooked wonderful Christmas dinners. She had been a cook in a school cafeteria.

I remember my mom's love for my brother Kyle. I remember going to see him in drug rehab, and on that occasion she let me have chocolate milk and Frosted Flakes. It was a first. We were happy when Kyle came home. We watched television together, and I exercised my baby teeth on his arm.