My Mother Lode

A tribute to the five women who raised me.

- Mark Peyser

WHEN I TELL MY CHILDREN stories about my mother, like how she used to share her cocktails with our golden retriever or when I woke up in the middle of the night and caught her making a tooth fairy delivery in the nude, the kids always ask the same thing: which mother are you talking about, Pop?

It’s a fair question. After all, there are five.

Only one of them is my biological mother, of course. (She was the acting tooth fairy, and just for the record, she says she wasn’t wearing any clothes because she remembered her job only after going to bed, which she did naked.) I also have a mother-in-law. And, thanks to my dad’s cando matrimonial motto—“If at first you don’t succeed, tie, tie the knot again”—I’ve also been the recipient of three stepmothers. Somehow, when they leave my father, they stay attached to me.

I’m not complaining, mind you. With multiple moms, you can expect multiple birthday cards and holiday presents, not to mention a deep bench of low-cost babysitters. On the other hand, you also get a host of opinions on how to raise your kids, what you should and shouldn’t eat, and where to spend your vacations. (The answer to the last one: at her house.)