To The Mother's
It's Mother's Day today.
She is a woman of unbelievable grace, untold patience, kindness, and love. To say that she is special is an understatement. I remember being a little girl of just five years old getting ready for my first day of Kindergarten and standing on the back porch all dressed in a cute little black and red plaid skirt, a knitted sweater that I think had a little black dog on it like Dorothy's Tutu, backpack slung over my tiny little shoulders and my feet stuck in a pair of my mom's white heeled dress shoes.
I think I might have gotten halfway down the back walkway before she called me back for a picture, the heels of her shoes clicking raggedly along the concrete. I'm sure she made me change my shoes after that. Then, there are the times I remember driving around with her (probably shopping) and being full of heart ache for one reason or another and being able to talk to her about it. She would sit there, and just listen to me, tell me that it was alright. She would tell me that a bruised heart will heal, or that maybe the time wasn't right to be in love, or that he wasn't right for me and that I would find someone special. Then she would tell me that she loved me, and that she was sorry that I was hurt. But, in all her years, I don't think she's tried to protect me from being hurt. She has said that if she could take it away from me, she would because (I assume) that as a parent it hurts to see your child hurt. But she's always made me feel better, and told me to soldier on and that when it works ... it will work. She has also recognized something amazing in my partner that took me just a wee bit longer to figure out. I was speaking to her on the phone and she flat out told me "Don't screw it up." It made me smile at the time, and I told her I wouldn't.
No doubt there have been times in my life, as is only inevitable, that I have fallen a little short of her expectations and caused some disappointment - although, I suspect that any disappointment was due to more of the fact that at some point, as children, we find some of the most stupid and idiotic things to get ourselves in to and revel in it only to find out later that "dancing with the devil" isn't all it's cracked up to be and can have less than desirable consequences. Nevertheless, despite my terrible lapses in judgement, my mother has stood by me. She supports me, as she always does ... but also hands out a good dose of reality when needed. And while, I might get upset at her for it, in my drama queen sort of way, I know that she means well. Then, I tell her that I'm sorry and that I love her.
We've always been able to "kiss and make up."
She worries constantly. And not just about her children, or her grandkids ... but the partners that my two older brothers and I have brought in to our lives. And while I'm sure she wishes that it could all be a bed of roses for all of us, and we try to keep her from seeing the odd thorn, she has an uncanny sense that sometimes there is something amiss in the world and will check in on us. All of us. She's a kind, gentle soul anchored firmly in the belief of her Christian faith. I've seen her many times sitting in the arm chair in the living room, with sunshine pouring in thru the window behind her, reading her Bible. She knits like a fiend, and even did cross-stitching for a while there. The Serenity Prayer is hanging in a frame on the wall in the hallway of her home. She bakes bread, too. When I was little, I remember her cutting off thick slices of bread fresh from the oven and slathering them with butter and molasses. We would stand their in the kitchen, with our slices of bread held over the kitchen sink to catch the crumbs, with molasses dripping from the corner of my mouth and my tummy full of warmth and happiness. She's also taught me how to cook.
The first thing she ever taught me to cook was Honey Garlic chicken - though sadly, I still can't quite cook rice properly.
So, for everything you've done for me, Mom ... Thanks. Don't ever stop being my mother, or my friend. I'm glad we laugh the way we do, or that we cry over things while watching TV. I'm glad that of all the little girls in the world that you could have chosen, you chose me. And I'm glad that of all the mother's I could have been given in the world, you were given to me. The Universe clearly knew what it was up to.
<3 p="">
She is a woman of unbelievable grace, untold patience, kindness, and love. To say that she is special is an understatement. I remember being a little girl of just five years old getting ready for my first day of Kindergarten and standing on the back porch all dressed in a cute little black and red plaid skirt, a knitted sweater that I think had a little black dog on it like Dorothy's Tutu, backpack slung over my tiny little shoulders and my feet stuck in a pair of my mom's white heeled dress shoes.
I think I might have gotten halfway down the back walkway before she called me back for a picture, the heels of her shoes clicking raggedly along the concrete. I'm sure she made me change my shoes after that. Then, there are the times I remember driving around with her (probably shopping) and being full of heart ache for one reason or another and being able to talk to her about it. She would sit there, and just listen to me, tell me that it was alright. She would tell me that a bruised heart will heal, or that maybe the time wasn't right to be in love, or that he wasn't right for me and that I would find someone special. Then she would tell me that she loved me, and that she was sorry that I was hurt. But, in all her years, I don't think she's tried to protect me from being hurt. She has said that if she could take it away from me, she would because (I assume) that as a parent it hurts to see your child hurt. But she's always made me feel better, and told me to soldier on and that when it works ... it will work. She has also recognized something amazing in my partner that took me just a wee bit longer to figure out. I was speaking to her on the phone and she flat out told me "Don't screw it up." It made me smile at the time, and I told her I wouldn't.
No doubt there have been times in my life, as is only inevitable, that I have fallen a little short of her expectations and caused some disappointment - although, I suspect that any disappointment was due to more of the fact that at some point, as children, we find some of the most stupid and idiotic things to get ourselves in to and revel in it only to find out later that "dancing with the devil" isn't all it's cracked up to be and can have less than desirable consequences. Nevertheless, despite my terrible lapses in judgement, my mother has stood by me. She supports me, as she always does ... but also hands out a good dose of reality when needed. And while, I might get upset at her for it, in my drama queen sort of way, I know that she means well. Then, I tell her that I'm sorry and that I love her.
We've always been able to "kiss and make up."
She worries constantly. And not just about her children, or her grandkids ... but the partners that my two older brothers and I have brought in to our lives. And while I'm sure she wishes that it could all be a bed of roses for all of us, and we try to keep her from seeing the odd thorn, she has an uncanny sense that sometimes there is something amiss in the world and will check in on us. All of us. She's a kind, gentle soul anchored firmly in the belief of her Christian faith. I've seen her many times sitting in the arm chair in the living room, with sunshine pouring in thru the window behind her, reading her Bible. She knits like a fiend, and even did cross-stitching for a while there. The Serenity Prayer is hanging in a frame on the wall in the hallway of her home. She bakes bread, too. When I was little, I remember her cutting off thick slices of bread fresh from the oven and slathering them with butter and molasses. We would stand their in the kitchen, with our slices of bread held over the kitchen sink to catch the crumbs, with molasses dripping from the corner of my mouth and my tummy full of warmth and happiness. She's also taught me how to cook.
The first thing she ever taught me to cook was Honey Garlic chicken - though sadly, I still can't quite cook rice properly.
So, for everything you've done for me, Mom ... Thanks. Don't ever stop being my mother, or my friend. I'm glad we laugh the way we do, or that we cry over things while watching TV. I'm glad that of all the little girls in the world that you could have chosen, you chose me. And I'm glad that of all the mother's I could have been given in the world, you were given to me. The Universe clearly knew what it was up to.
<3 p="">
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