By: Ziza Malloy
As mother’s day approaches I cannot help but think about my favorite childhood memories of my mom. There are many to pull from but this year I am most thankful for ‘lipstick kisses’.
As a missionary kid there was always something going on. Growing up my parents pastored a large church with which they were very involved; attending to church matters, prepping sermons, counseling individuals and/or families, prayer meetings, etc. Life was busy.
Ever time my mother would leave the house she would give us a ‘lipstick kiss’ as the name in tales, she would kiss each of my siblings and me leaving a big mauve colored lip print on our tiny faces. Lipstick kisses were one of my dearest memories, I was a girly girl and I would be simply fascinated when I would watch my mom get ready to leave. I dreamt of the day I could buy and wear my own perfume, make up but especially buy and wear red lipsticks.
I also dreamt to find a husband that looked at me the way my dad would look at my mom as she would walk out of the bathroom dressed up and ready to go. Even though her make up looked the same every time and he knew exactly what to expect he would still look at her as if he had seen her for the first time.
Her getting ready was a gentle warning that she, and most likely my dad, were about to leave, which like most children wasn’t my favorite idea but, I also knew my cheeks would soon have red lipstick marks. My sisters and I would stride around with our faces pointed up with pride almost saying I am loved, therefore I have been kissed. We would be so careful not to smug or smear our freshly painted faces and we would argue whose lipstick kiss resembled our mom’s lips the most. When it was bath time we wouldn’t let our nanny wash off the lipstick, we wanted to wear it until she came back again.
When I was younger I thought my favorite part of the lipstick kiss was having my face stamped but as I have gotten older I have realized what I really loved most was my mother’s consistency in ALWAYS kissing us good bye.
Now a parent myself I tend to feel guilty when I leave my son at home. My perception is that so much of my identity as a person is being a parent for him, yet at times it seems such a challenging vocation. I also believe, looking at myself that we as parents are so hard on ourselves and maybe forget that consistency and the small gestures of love can make the difference on the lives of our children.
To all mothers out there, thanks for your love. You inspire us to be the woman and parent we are.