SPT - My Mother

This week's challenge was about our mothers.

what would you like us to know about your mom? who is the woman in your life who bandaged your knees, led you to kindergarten, taught you how to play the piano, or how to run a basting stitch, or how to polish silver? maybe she taught you how to plant a garden, or how to take great photographs, or how to ride a bike?

if you could be with her this weekend, what would you say? is "thank you" enough?

When first reading this explanation, I laughed because there is a joke among my sisters and I that my mom can do all of these things but she didn't teach us anything! Let me explain....

My mother was born in her family home in a very small town in Montana. She was expected at a young age to help on the farm and help her mother in the home. It was a different time then and she learned how to do it all. She cans, she sews, she embroiders and needle stitches and cooks and all of those lovely things that you think of when you think of mothers.

My mother married when she was 33 years old. In our LDS culture, that is considered later in life and I'm sure the thought crossed her mind that she might not ever get married. She wrote out her own story on her blog, which I loved, and she tells of her great faith in the blessings she was given earlier and lived her life to the fullest the entire time she was single. She has her masters in English and knows a lot about the English language. I can always call her up when I need to know if I should say lie or lay. Mom, I think I've got it now. I lay the book down. I lie down to sleep. Yes!

She became a mother nine months after being married to my father. (nudge,nudge,wink,wink). She had decided to welcome as many children as Heavenly Father blessed her with and by the time she was 40, I was born, her fifth. My youngest sister came three years later and life was busy for my mother. My dad was busy at his law practice, busy as a young bishop, and later stake presidency, and she spent a lot of time managing the six of us by herself. I mentioned earlier about my grandmother coming to live with us after having a stroke. Having three children each spaced three years apart and being 10 years younger than my mom when I started my own family, I have a hard time imagining the stress and weariness she experienced while raising us. Honestly, she doesn't remember that much about it. Most of us took a child development class at BYU where we had to write a paper about our first three years of life, and every time someone called her for their information (when we walked, talked, first words etc.), she rolled her eyes and tried again to separate each of us from the blur.

Amid all of the messes and noise and clutter and confusion, my mother provided a peaceful, secure, loving home for us. We had the cute dresses for Easter and Christmas that she made. We had family home evening and morning and evening family prayer. We had breakfast AND dinner together as a family every single day. Sit down. With plates and everything. And she wasn't serving chicken dinos!

All six of us took piano lessons that she drove us to and from. Hours of either driving to and fro or sitting in a car waiting outside. That had to be incredibly annoying for her but I don't ever remember hearing her complain. Even when we did (which we all did plenty of), she just kept driving us, paying for us and even tolerating the music I chose to play which was almost always loud, showy and dissonant.

She always provided a balanced meal. There were always veggies and fruit and milk to drink. O.K. Sometimes the milk was questionable. I think money was tight so my parents slipped us a fast one and mixed our 2% milk with powdered milk and put all the "milk" into those glass apple juice jugs. Most of us refused to drink the end of a jug when the taste become....chewy. I love how she made do with what they had and made things stretch for her young, boisterous family.

I really could go on and on about what I admire about my mother. As good as she was and is at providing for me and my siblings, she fostered an environment where each of us learned to have our own thoughts and ideas and a strong testimony. She loves being a mother but she still has her own identity. She's an avid reader. It was her bookclub that she attended for years while I was growing up that gave me the itch to be part of one. She really enjoys mah jong. And boggle and other word games. She loves music and opera and the symphony. I went to more operas in high school in Montana of all places than I have in the bigger cities I've lived in since.

Both she and my dad always set the bar high for education and spirituality. Doing well in school and going to college was expected but also a given. I don't remember it being an issue because we sensed the importance of learning and knowledge. Her strength and commitment to the gospel is a constant example to me as a mother. She took the time to understand things, and ponder new things and passed on her thoughts to me. To this day, I love sitting around with her and starting a question with, "Mom, what do you think about....?"

I wish I could have seen her this last weekend. But once again, she is teaching me by example that you serve and you grow, you serve and you grow. I just thank my lucky stars that I get to call her mine.

No, I don't know how to sew. I struggle to thread a needle and use it for a higher purpose. I certainly don't know how to make her delicious bread that I didn't appreciate in the lunches she made for me daily (I had wonder bread envy). But I know that she loves God. I know that she loves my dad. Best of all, I know that she loves me. And that is the best kind of knowledge.

Thanks to the woman who made everything possible for me! I love you.