Lately when we are getting into the car to go somewhere, my daughter says, "Mom, let's rock!". This means "Turn up the music and roll down the windows so we can sing at the top of our lungs!". I have been borrowing some courage and spunk from Sara Bareilles and my kids can sing along with all the songs now. We sing and smile and laugh our way all over town.
I remember some good times with my own mom who is also a mom that rocks. When I was growing up, my mom had a charcoal gray Camaro. And she was a hot mama with long curly hair wearing tight jeans, tank top and sunglasses. We would get in that Camaro, roll down the windows and blast the country music: George Strait, Hank Williams Jr., Reba McIntyre, the Judds. She loved to drive into the country looking at deer or mooing at the cows she passed along the highway. Mostly what I remember is the sun on my face, the wind in my hair, the music, the singing and the pure joy of the entire experience. Even today when I hear those old familiar songs, it takes me right back.
The family legend is that I once turned to my friend who was sitting in the back seat with me, did a big teenage eye roll and said, "My mom talks to cows". And I know I told her several times that I wished she would dress like the other mothers. Although I put on a big show of being embarrassed, I think I knew a little then what I know so much better now: how fortunate I am to have a mom who has the courage to be her own true self and knows how to have fun.