Page 138 of It's Not PMS, It's You
She stared at me for a moment. “Who said I did?”
“I know the whole story, mom. You had a bright future ahead of you as a painter. Then you just gave it all up.”
We had never talked about this before.
“Sweetie, where is all this coming from? I didn’t give up a single thing when you were born.”
“You’re telling me you didn’t give up an amazing career?”
She sat down on the chair in front of the easel. “I love painting, but I always considered it secondary because the only thing I really wanted was to have a baby girl. Ask your father! When I had you, I was set. I didn’t needanythingelse to be fulfilled. And I have no regrets. Not one.”
“But you gave up painting for me.”
“No, I didn’t. Your dad made plenty of money to take care of us and I was all for it. All I wanted to do was take care ofyou. I don’t knowwhereyou got that from or why you think I gave up anything, because it couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m fortunate to be one of those people in the world whose life turned out just the way I wanted it to.”
“You’re not just saying that?”
Mom laughed. “No, sweetie. Follow me. I want to show you something.”
I followed her upstairs and down the hall to the guest bedroom in the back. I really can’t even remember if I have ever stepped in that room this century.
My mom pushed open the door and motioned for me to go in.
I stepped inside and froze.
The room was full of paintings.
There must have been a hundred of them.
Rows and rows of paintings were on the floor, leaning against each other ten deep.
Including one unfinished painting on an easel.
All were signed at the bottom by my mom.
I spun around to look at everything. “What’s all this?”
“A new passion project of mine that I started this year. This is whatyou claimI gave up.”
I blinked a couple of times, more confused than ever. “I don’t understand. What exactly is going on here? What are you doing with all the paintings?”
She smiled. “I have my own business now. Well, maybebusinessis not the right term.”
I flipped through the paintings leaning against the wall. I didn’t know much about art, but I loved the colors and the simplicity. There was a young girl looking up into the stars in the sky, smiling. She actually reminded me of me when I was young. The odd thing was, they were all identical.
“Why are all the paintings the same?”
My mom pointed to them proudly. “That has been my bestseller by far. I have been mass-duplicating it. I call it, ‘The Girl with Stars in Her Eyes.’” She smiled. “It’s the story of a young girl who dreams big and shoots for the stars. She isn’t ever afraid to go for it, whether it’s learning to whistle, riding a bike, or playing soccer.” My mom kissed me on the forehead. “That’s you, sweetie.”
“Me?” I stepped closer to the unfinished painting on the easel, deep in thought.
“Of course. Ever since you were a little girl, you’ve always gotten whatever you wanted when you put your mind to it. And that has continued into your adult life, even today. I’ve always believed in you, but more important than that,youhave always believed in you.”
I nodded. “It’s beautiful. I love it.” I turned to her. “Why didn’t you tell me you were doing this?”
She shrugged. “You’ve been busy.”
My BS detector was sounding a full alert with my own mom.
