Tomorrow is Mother’s Day but I have a different type of post I want to share then. So today I am going to write about my own mother to celebrate her.
My mother had me when she was 27 years old and I was her fourth child. It was 1970 and she welcomed another baby girl into her home. It had been five years since she gave birth or had a little one.
Our family at the time lived at a cattle feed lot, I came home from the hospital and unfortunately my mother had to go to work. Some of the cattle were out, so she being the woman she was, helped. From what I recall of my childhood she could work as physically hard as any man. She may have wanted to be in the kitchen with her apron on baking and cooking but instead she was working to provide for her family. While raising four children, one boy and three girls, she worked long hours and taught us to be tough. She withstood an alcoholic husband, all while protecting her children.
The things I remember from my childhood aren’t all wonderful Norman Rockwell paintings but there were good times. There were these and I’m glad I had them. I know they are because of her.
Sitting in the control room, watching her load the feed trucks, drinking cold coffee. (me not her)
My chance to ride in the feed truck cutting my teeth on that hard plastic dash board.
The pop machine in the break room was the envy of my eye.
Her pecan rolls and pies were the best of the best when she did have time to make them.
The Christmas with the Rub-a Dub dolly and my birthday the next day.
Angel food cake for birthdays.
My sister and I in the kitchen one time with her, using her large cast iron skillet (I now have) frying donuts.
The night she let me start washing dishes with the big girls because I asked to. (what was I thinking at 7 years old!)
The drive in movies.
The Dentyne gum that was always in her purse.
The long hours she worked to support her children while being a single mom. The home she provided for us. It was burnt up mobile home but she made it into home for us.
The times we had after she married Bob my step-dad were some really great times. I’m grateful they found one another.
The day I didn’t have to tell her at 16 I was pregnant, she looked at me and knew. She took care of me, she held me. She understood.
She was always somewhat a protector of her kids, I suppose she had to be. That’s all I will say on that.
Hearing her say how proud she was of me when I delivered my oldest daughter. She was next to me the entire time.
Creating a quilt with her for my middle daughter’s 8th grade recognition.
Having her hand make several items for my first wedding was items I will always cherish.
The blankets that were crocheted and tea towels she embroidered. The homemade gifts for Christmas all those years.
Today I cherish most when she talks of days of old. Of her life and the memories she has of growing up.
These are tidbits from my memory that my mother were part of. From my upbringing I feel I took away the strength needed to endure the more difficult things in life and to work hard at whatever task has been placed before you.
Today my mother is 71 years old. She isn’t as physically strong as she used to be, but I understand why. I understand that life has given her yet another task to live with. She will move forward in her own way, she always does. 🙂 And although we may not always agree, I will cherish her none the less.
I am wishing her much love, much joy, and much comfort the rest of the days of her life. I love you Mom and thank you.
Grace is a gift,