How do I write the perfect post to illustrate the love and gratitude I have for my mom?
If I knew, then you’d be reading it. I’ve thought and thought, and written and rewritten, but nothing seems to grasp what I’m wanting to relay to this beautiful woman who gave me life, shaped me into who I am, and continues to love me as only a mother can.
There have been so many times in my life that I’ve been in this position – desiring to give her the perfect gift, pick out the perfect card, and live the life that will make her proud – yet it never seems quite good enough to me. Meanwhile, she loves me too unconditionally to expect me to be perfect and receives each humble gift with joy. I have no doubt that she really does love me just as I am.
I know because she’s listened to me for hours and hours and hours of her life as I have sorted through things, asked questions, and just talked about whatever silly things amused me.
I know because she always took care to make me a part of her days. When it was time to do chores, she was there showing me how to do it. When it was time to make dinner, she helped me learn how to read recipes. When she was making bridesmaids dresses to provide income for her to stay home with my sister and me, she encouraged me to get out my homemade paper doll and color her some new dresses as well.
When homeschooling was not popular, she stood by her convictions and did the best job teaching of anyone I know, even without a single blog or co-op to boost her confidence or give her ideas. When I didn’t believe in myself, she did. When I didn’t understand Geometry, she would stay up late the night before so she could do the problems herself.
When I came down with the chicken pox on my 11th birthday, she still made it a special day for me. When we were riding in the car together, she would use that opportunity to teach us a new song. When I played outside all day in the muddy creek, she washed my clothes without once complaining. When she volunteered at church throughout the week, my sister and I were right there with her.
When I was bored in the summer, she would take me to the library and then come home and read alongside me. When I had Bible verses to memorize for school, she would memorize them, too. When it snowed, she would come build snowmen with us.
When peers were unkind to me, she would hug me and then remind me of my worth. Oh, and she even taught me Pig Latin so I could fit in a bit with the cool kids when I was in fourth grade. When I felt ugly, she was relentless in telling me I was beautiful.
When I became a mom myself, she was up all night holding her breath in anticipation of holding her first grandson as she stroked my hair. When I was too sick or overwhelmed to care for him and me at the same time, she would take off work to care for both of us.
When I decided to embrace this crazy notion of being a writer, and still feel overwhelmed at all the work and stretching it takes to become one, I have flashbacks to her reactions as she graded my papers all the way back in elementary school. “You’re a gifted writer, Kelly.” Over and over. My first fan, and on the days I feel like she’s my only one, I can smile and keep going.
Mom, I love you. You have inspired me in all that I am aspiring to do with my life, and I am grateful to have such a wonderful example when I try to figure out how I’m supposed to be a good mom myself. Thank you for giving me life and living it with me.
I’m linking this post to the 1,000 Moms Project. Be sure to check it out so you can honor your mom while helping moms in Haiti! You can do it on Facebook if you aren’t a blogger.
My sister, niece, mom, me, and my son on Mother’s Day 2010 (I think we’re due an updated picture.)
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