Mothers

This is a difficult Mother's Day for me.

It is the first time I don't have a mother to shop for. A special greeting card, flowers, a fragrant lotion, or other such special treasure would be hers if only she were here to receive it.

I have been avoiding the card aisle at the stores recently. They all shout Mother's Day, as they do with all holidays and special occasions, so that you can't claim ignorance if you've frequented Target, Wal-Mart, a grocery or drug store in recent weeks.

I have received beautiful cards from those who mean the most to me, and it gladdens my heart to know I am honored by them.  But I can only honor my own mother's memory this year. 

Some time ago, I came across a poem she wrote in an old scrapbook and I scanned it for safe keeping. She wrote it for her own mother in 1938 at the age of fifteen.

Mother's Day is a day of pride,

For mothers round the countryside.

The time to be happy, the time to be gay,

The time to cast all your cares away.

When children show their love for Mother,

You tell her that you love no other.

Then mother's heart is happy and gay,

On this, the nicest day in May.

And when I am sad, I remember that my mother lost her own mother much earlier than I did. I had my mother with me for 66 years.

She, however, lost her mother at 21 when she was a new wife and mother. She did not have the benefit of her mother's wisdom as she was starting a home and raising children, as I did. Or just sharing everyday joys and sorrows.


I have been so blessed. And I am so grateful to the wonderful and gracious woman I had the privilege of calling mother.

I believe all women should celebrate Mother's Day. I believe women are born nurturers and all should share the honor.

Have a very blessed and Happy Mother's Day.

Like mother, like daughter

In case my daughter ever vowed she wouldn't grow up to be just like me, the joke's on her.

She's exactly like me.

When her husband, Rich, was doing the plumbing for our new bathroom, he noticed that I was doing the laundry and asked if I "snapped" the clothes when they came out of the washer and dryer. Not just shake them out, but snap them.

Well, of course, I said. To get the wrinkles out.

He laughed and said Kristie does that, too. I told him, well, I guess she's a lot like me. And he said, with great emphasis, "Oh, in every way!"

I took that as a compliment. I'm sure that's how he meant it.

Well, in case there is any doubt...last week she was over, and I served her a Woody's bran muffin. (You thought you had heard the end of Woody's bran muffins, didn't you?)

On Sunday, she called and said she had made Woody's bran muffins. But, get this:

She went to the store to buy a large container (like mine) to store the batter, a covered pedestal cake stand (like mine, for the baked muffins), paper doilies for the cake stand (like mine) and a label maker (like mine) so she could label the batter container (like I did).

She wanted to know exactly how I labeled the container so she could do the same.


How do I tell my darling daughter she is just like me?

Honoring my mother...most of the time

Today is Mother's Day, a day in which we honor our mothers.

My mother and I are like oil and water...leave us in a room together for more than five minutes, and we'll be on each others nerves over something that never really matters.

I got to thinking about the possible reasons for this. Two came to mind.

First, perhaps I am so much like her that we see in each other those traits we don't like; or, two, perhaps because I am the oldest of six children and so much is expected of the oldest. In any case, I think of her today with so much love in my heart for the gracious woman that she is and for all she has taught me.

At 86, the only thing she does not tolerate in any of us is thinking ourselves better than the next person. Always rooting for the underdog. Always open to learning from others irregardless of their race, religion, station in life or anything else, for that matter.

After eight years attending a parochial grade school, my Dad wanted me to continue in a parachial high school. My mother put her foot down and said no. It was time I learned about people, places and things beyond what she saw as a limited experience. I attended a "melting pot" high school and am grateful I did. My eyes were opened.

She took me to Scandinavia, the first of many trips where I met my Danish family and saw where my grandmother was born and places she lived in Sweden. My eyes were opened.

I said I could never do the kind of needlework she did, and that putting stitches in an empty piece of cloth following a pattern of symbols was too baffling. She bought me a kit and patiently taught me how to start and see the pattern emerge on the cloth. My eyes were opened.

In fact, she has opened my eyes to so many things around me, and has always encouraged me to grow beyond what I thought I could.

So thank you, Mom, on your special day, and forgive me for all the times I get on your nerves. And Happy Birthday, Dad, who would have been 91 today. I love you both very deeply.