Happy birthday to my Mom, Ginger Salvatore!
I will not tell you her age, but rather show you these photos, which will surely get me in hot water.
I love this baby picture, even if the toy she’s sitting on looks more than a little dangerous. She is here in the front yard of her childhood home, where many years Iater I learned to make pancakes with my cousins, played dress-up in the attic, created otherworldly forts out of sheets, and tried in vain to avoid my uncle as he stole around the corner in full horror costume at Halloween.
In the picture below, Mom is about 6. Her hair was a beautiful honey-blond, judging by the lock that’s saved next to the picture in the photo album, and I see here she’s no longer wearing the beloved baby ring that had to be cut off her finger (it, too, is in the album).
Also, you should know she didn’t like the bow (there’s a story there — maybe she’ll weigh in with it if she’s still talking to me after seeing this post).
That serious expression is a standing feature of nearly all her photos; she HATES having her picture taken, and I guess she always did.
Looking at the pictures, you’d never guess it, but my mother is one of the funniest people I know.
She’s also beautiful, selfless, wonderfully artistic and creative, and has always worked tirelessly– a trait I understand more now that I’m a mother, too, and try (unsuccessfully) to maintain the traditions she did.
Thanks to her, I don’t take myself too seriously. But try as I might to emulate her, I know I’ll never be as terrific a mom as she was to me.
Happy birthday, Mom! Wishing you lots of love and laughs this year and always.