My mom has been gone for many years now, but there’s not a day that I don’t think of her or need her or miss her. We seldom saw eye to eye, but we usually saw heart to heart.
Happy Mother’s Day to the woman who insisted I use good grammar and who modeled great reading habits. I owe her everything.
Several years ago my daughter, Ashley, put together this collage of pictures of her and her brother, Jason, and presented it to me on Mother’s Day. It remains one of the best gifts I’ve ever received and makes me feel more than a little nostalgic for the days when they were little.
I’m so fortunate to be their mom, and they make me incredibly proud every day. I just hope I’m forgiven for sharing their bathtub photo!
Love you, my babies.
Mother, in your life
did we honor your efforts?
Not nearly enough.
Only when you left
could we see your worth, your love
so ingrained was it.
Do we mark our breaths
or the beating of our hearts?
You were everything.
We give you this day
filled with all our love.
I miss you, Mom.
For a combination Mother’s/Father’s Day gift our daughter had this made for Studly and me. It’s a beautiful reminder of all we’ve been through and of just how far we’ve come.
The border lists all the places we’ve lived in our marriage. In the lower right hand corner the names of our children and grandchildren are written. All around our names are our interests and Studly’s famous sayings, “Don’t say whoa in a mud hole,” “Second Sucks,” and “Can’t never could.”
The “Really, Really” is how Studly signs his cards to me. He’s been doing so since before we married. The one time he forgot I thought he wanted to leave me.
Notice the cow in the upper right hand corner. That represents Salem Sue, the huge Holstein that adorns a hill outside New Salem, North Dakota, where we lived for 18 months. The town, not the hill; although, I always told people we lived behind the left udder.
The remainder of the picture contains little bits of our lives, our hobbies and activities. Studly golfs. I drink wine. We both follow the Dallas Cowboys and ride motorcycles. Oh, and we both look like idiots trying to climb out of our kayak.
When I get old, this will be my touchstone, my connection to our past. What a wonderful gift!
Today is Mother’s Day, and I really think all moms should get a break from trying to write a post on the Daily Post’s daily prompt. I am a mom; therefore, here is my take on the prompt: Journey.
I have beautiful memories of Freida Hall, the woman who wiped my snotty nose, cleaned out my grungy ears, and made sure I always wore clean underwear. Glamorous roles, indeed.
Isn’t that what being a mother is about, though? Taking on those tough jobs that nobody else wants to do: Getting up at midnight and two and four and six with a newborn who can’t settle into a schedule, or with a two year old who just wants to have a cuddle and a bit of comfort, or with a 16-year-old whose boyfriend had just broken up with her?
It’s about doing the tough love stuff when necessary–sniffing out the truth instead of believing every word her beloved child tells her. It’s about holding that child accountable for wrongdoing, and then holding her close and letting her know she’s still loved.
I’d love nothing more at this moment than to be able to tell my mom how much I loved her and how much she meant to me. I’d say:
Thanks Mommy for all of those unglamorous acts you performed, for all the wiped noses and bums, all the scrubbed faces and ears.
Thanks for all the times you stayed up with me, cuddled me, held my hand, cooled my fevered brow, and listened to my teenaged angst.
Thanks for teaching my brothers and me to be responsible adults through example and discipline and tough love.
Thanks, Mom. I love you and miss you every day.
Peace, people. Life’s too precious for anything else.