The Nurturing Kind
AS LONG AS I CAN REMEMBER, my mom has always done sweet little things to let me and my brother know how much she loves us. Of course, she told us so (and still does). But she showed it just as often. There were the big displays—the handcrafted dollhouse she found and had painted comes to mind. (It was better than anything Barbie could have dreamed up.) And the small, steady daily acts, which in many ways are even more imprinted on my memory. In grade school, it wasn’t uncommon to see her writing scrawled on the inner edge of my brown-bag lunch (or on a paper napkin tucked inside), wishing me a good day and signed “xoxo, Mom.” There were also all the warm suppers that she had ready…