She had long blond hair pulled back in a loose braid. She held onto my sister, just a toddler, gently grasping her tiny arm in her own. Her eyes peacefully closed and completely in love. Still in her twenties her aura radiated a colorful youthfulness even through the black and white photo captured at a refugee camp. A moment caught on film, of a mother inhaling her child's scent.

That photo of my mother is my favorite one from childhood.

I think of that photo often as it paints a portrait of my mother as I remember her. Perfect composure. Perfect surroundings. Perfect meals. Perfect. Living up to the image, that I created, has caused me many sleepless nights. I often wonder how she stayed so sane without the luxury of a minivan, dishwasher and playgroups while I frantically rush around tossing  chicken nuggets into the mouths of my children in my filthy minivan.

The other month I exchanged some giggles with a dear facebook friend online, in regards to our Polish mothers gossiping about us. I retold the brief encounter our mothers had, to my friend, "You know, my Katherine cleans for me before I visit." "My, Paulina, is better mom than me. But. She is around dirt. And messy." "My Katherine too, bless her heart, is always have kids with runny noses. You know. They don't wear socks at home." "Oh. Paulina no puts the sock on and sometimes she makes no beds in the morning." "They are good mothers but so much dirt!" "Yes. I did experiment and left the dirt, that cause me pain, to see the time it took for Paulina to clean. I try relax. I can't."

SHOCKING. I know. I've told my mother to hush before. But this time it's different. In the last 48 hours I've dusted every corner of my house, emptied out all the drawers, arranged every closet and vacuumed under the beds. And cooked a wholesome meal with enough leftovers to feed a kingdom to make sure she couldn't comment on the lack of food in my abode. SHOCKING. I know. My beloved aunt (self proclaimed Marinka's biggest fan) called me this morning contributing to my stress, "Are you ready? For your mom? Is the house clean?" You see. My mother has graciously offered to tend over the domestic duties and child care for four days while I sashay around LA on some business. Bless her heart. The last time my mother was alone in my house with my children not only did she whip out gourmet meals that put me to shame but also re-arranged my bed putting Martha Stewart to shame, positioning the pillows she deemed as more feng shui. For us. A married couple under their own roof. Because in her eyes it was "a better way" to decorate.

That alone is nothing I will lose sleep over, I can handle and am willing to take criticism. I'm more worried about my husband and children realizing/appreciating/falling-in-love with what a mother really can do. (Read: home-cooked meals in a clean house with kids in socks curing them of runny noses). My "tossing aside housework to appreciate all the love" gig might have an expiration date when my loved ones realize my mother can do it all.

Have fun Mama. You don't have to pre-soak the dishes before putting them into the dishwasher. The doors on the minivan automatically open. The kids won't eat veal no matter how much you disguise it. And I like the feng shui of my house just as it is. Remember to toss aside the housework and just enjoy the grandchildren that are so eagerly awaiting your kisses. This is what they will remember most. It is what I remember about you.

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