O Mother, I give you my love with each flower
To give forth sweet fragrance a whole life-time through;
For if I love blossoms and meadows and walking,
I learn how to love them, dear mother, from you.
-I Often Go Walking, Children's Songbook, 202
I did quite a few naughty things when I was small. Things like (and these are a simple few) putting the dog in the microwave, feeding my little sister a whole bowl of dog food, stealing my grandma's heel lift, using all of the clean blankets to make a fort outside, hide a cow eyeball in the freezer, let all the crickets loose in the house that were meant for my lizard to eat, and spilled nail polish all over our new carpet.
Now that I am a mother I know what naughty acts can do to your patience when those naughty acts come one after another and dare I say even in the same day.
But there is nothing like a mother's love. I have heard it said that it is simple and strong. Strong it is.
Simple it is not. It is deep. It is real. It is poured over every aspect of a child's life, and it fills all the cracks and crevices in the heart.
And I might say it is what kept me alive on my more naughty days.
I have always wanted to be like my mom.
She can make magic out of misery and mischief.
She can cut a straight line, sew a straight seam, and do wonders on a straight face.
I love thinking of my mother doing all that she does. My mother painting something, fixing something, planting something, changing something, cleaning something, moving something, singing something-
My Mother making everything better- My Mother sanctifying her corner of the world and all connected to it.
My Mother.
She taught me that life won't wait and living isn't about simply breathing. It is about doing.
She taught me that being there cannot be imitated, and sacrifice is a part of true love.
She loves me.
And that is what I need.
Happy Birthday Mom.
You make all the superheros jealous.
