Love you, Mom.
She woke up early to fix your breakfast before school. Fed you. Bathed you. Changed your dirty dirty diapers. Made a big whooping deal about your birthday. She was never upset when you woke her up because your tummy hurt. She laughed when you played dress up in her closet. She was always at your school play, your chorus concert, your big game. She came early to bring snacks. She helped with your homework, ordered pizza for you and your friends on Friday night, and let you go to that really awesome concert downtown. Because she trusted you. Although it didn't stop her from calling your cell phone A LOT. She took you shopping for prom dresses. She let you cry on her shoulder about that dumb boy who didn't deserve you anyway. She slipped a twenty in your hand when you were going back to college after being home for the weekend. She helped you move time and time again, coming behind you to clean the bathroom while the boxes were being transported to the truck. She let you travel the country, the world, and didn't let her worries about you being so far away affect her ability to let you go. But she sure did pray. She smiled through her tears on your wedding day. She held your hands while you were pregnant, answered every question when you asked "How bad is this gonna hurt??", and was by your side when you finally, exhausted, welcomed your wiggly, darling baby into the world. She was always, she is always, and will always always be there. For as long as she has breath in her body, she will give all her joy to your existence.
Okay, that was my mom.
But I bet yours was something like that, too. At least, I hope so.
This year is my first Mother's Day. I can't believe I'm allowed to be a mom. I can only hope to measure up in the tenderest way, because I have incredibly large mom shoes to fill. Well, not true. She has dainty little feet. But her footprint over the journey of my life has been immeasurable, innumerable with oodles and oodles of loving tracks. Inexplicable. She has given me her life's blood and her hearty Hungarian laugh. Her full cheeks and strong thighs. I am the mother that I am, because she was the mother that she was. I will probably screw up a lot, but she taught me that having grace for myself is one of the best gifts I can give to my family.
There is no perfect mother, but I would like to argue that she is. Close.
I hope you give mom your whole heart of love today.
A little more about my mom here.