I come from a matriarchal family. The Connor Sisters are a legend. And they are the heart of our family, all five of them. Even though my grandma, Joanne (second from the top there) isn't here anymore, she left us with so many incredible memories and lessons and reminders that a woman's strength and resilience is really unparalleled. And where else would I have learned how to bet at the greyhound track, catchy and inappropriate phrases to utter when I'm frustrated, or how special a bottle of Hershey's syrup and a five dollar bill can be?
I come from an Irish family. I can never remember exactly how far removed the sisters were from Ireland, or if both of their parents were from Ireland? But I know they grew up in the Strawberry Hill neighborhood in Kansas City, Kansas. And legend has it that our family used to have that Irish O' before the Connor, but there was another O'Connor family on the block and the mail kept getting mixed up so our family dropped the O'. A sad day indeed.
Of course, with five sisters to lead the family, even the Connor disappeared as they were married and took their husbands' surnames. We're now the Byards, the Zimmermans, Cummings, Pounds, and Johnsons.
But not really. Because deep down we're still the Connors. Just ask some of younger little cousins running around these days - I think we have three boys named Connor in homage to the family heritage. My brother joked that he was going to name his son Connor Connor O'Connor just to be the most Irish of us all.
I like being Irish, even if it's just a small part of me. It's the most celebrated part of my heritage - I grew up at least going to St. Patrick's Day parades if not being in them, hearing Irish songs and stories, and dreaming of seeing the green pastures for myself one day. I still hope to visit, and now I'm even more excited to do so because I can take my kids with me and tell them about their Great Momo. I'm also bound and determined to get Evelyn into Irish Dance (especially after watching this documentary... Jonathan says the wigs are ridiculous but I beg to differ).
I don't know how it started, but grandmothers on the maternal side of my family are called Momo. At least, my grandma Joanne (pictured above) was a Momo. And her mom (I think it was her mom?) was a Momo to my mom.
And now my mom (pictured above being just flipping adorable with her self-cut bangs) is a Momo too. Maybe one day I will join the ranks of the Momos. It is an honor, for sure. The highest ranking in our matriarchal, Irish family. Momo.
Today is my Momo's birthday. I miss her today. I wish she could have seen the day her great grandson Felix was born, when she became a Great Momo. And of course I wish she could meet Evelyn. But I got many, many hours and days and weeks and years with my Momo. Jonathan and I would go over to her apartment and have pizza and watch The Mole and try to figure out the clues with her. She came to take pictures before every dance in high school. She was there when I graduated from K-State. She fought cancer three times? Or four? Like, seriously bad cancer. She was so strong. Headstrong. And just all-around strong. I'm lucky to have so many memories that I can't recount them all.
Happy birthday, Momo.
I come from an Irish family. I can never remember exactly how far removed the sisters were from Ireland, or if both of their parents were from Ireland? But I know they grew up in the Strawberry Hill neighborhood in Kansas City, Kansas. And legend has it that our family used to have that Irish O' before the Connor, but there was another O'Connor family on the block and the mail kept getting mixed up so our family dropped the O'. A sad day indeed.
Of course, with five sisters to lead the family, even the Connor disappeared as they were married and took their husbands' surnames. We're now the Byards, the Zimmermans, Cummings, Pounds, and Johnsons.
But not really. Because deep down we're still the Connors. Just ask some of younger little cousins running around these days - I think we have three boys named Connor in homage to the family heritage. My brother joked that he was going to name his son Connor Connor O'Connor just to be the most Irish of us all.
I like being Irish, even if it's just a small part of me. It's the most celebrated part of my heritage - I grew up at least going to St. Patrick's Day parades if not being in them, hearing Irish songs and stories, and dreaming of seeing the green pastures for myself one day. I still hope to visit, and now I'm even more excited to do so because I can take my kids with me and tell them about their Great Momo. I'm also bound and determined to get Evelyn into Irish Dance (especially after watching this documentary... Jonathan says the wigs are ridiculous but I beg to differ).
I don't know how it started, but grandmothers on the maternal side of my family are called Momo. At least, my grandma Joanne (pictured above) was a Momo. And her mom (I think it was her mom?) was a Momo to my mom.
And now my mom (pictured above being just flipping adorable with her self-cut bangs) is a Momo too. Maybe one day I will join the ranks of the Momos. It is an honor, for sure. The highest ranking in our matriarchal, Irish family. Momo.
Today is my Momo's birthday. I miss her today. I wish she could have seen the day her great grandson Felix was born, when she became a Great Momo. And of course I wish she could meet Evelyn. But I got many, many hours and days and weeks and years with my Momo. Jonathan and I would go over to her apartment and have pizza and watch The Mole and try to figure out the clues with her. She came to take pictures before every dance in high school. She was there when I graduated from K-State. She fought cancer three times? Or four? Like, seriously bad cancer. She was so strong. Headstrong. And just all-around strong. I'm lucky to have so many memories that I can't recount them all.
Happy birthday, Momo.
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