Mother’s Day is tomorrow and I’ve had my mother and grandmother on my mind. I don’t think we ever realize how much they have impacted our lives until we reach adulthood--or maybe the better word is maturity.
When I think of my grandmother I think of walking in her little brown-sided bungalow house and feeling so safe and loved. I think of long hours spent on a yellow glider in her summer porch reading Big Little books or my grandfathers’s Popular Mechanics books for boys. I think of her sending me to the pantry or the cupboard and seeing rows of neatly lined green beans, tomato juice, pickles and jams. I think of the smell of coffee, freshly baked sweet breads, the best pies in the whole world and rolls. I think of the hours we spent talking to one another with me soaking up her advice. I think of how much she taught me about life just by relating her life to me.
I have memories of her putting rag curls in my hair to distract me from the itching of my gigantic case of chickenpox, of her sitting in a swing with me under the grapevine covered arbor or helping her cut rhubarb growing in the back yard to make one of her famous rhubarb pies.
I think of how much she valued her past and how she introduced me to many people in my family by going through pictures with me. I think of her journals that took me with her through her mothering and her many travels with my grandfather.
I think of watching her marriage and knowing without a doubt that she and my grandfather deeply loved one another. I would take mental notes as I watched her make sure she met his needs and made him happy. He in turn did the same thing for her.
I inherited her love for beautiful glassware and she would take me through her house and tell me the memory that came with each piece. No wonder so much of it found its way to my home when she knew her days were coming down to a close.
So much of my mothering, being a wife and homemaker come from my grandmother. She taught me as we were side-by-side talking, cooking, baking or reading together.
Then my mother--she seemed to me the gentlest soul that ever lived. My strongest memory of her was that she was always there. If I walked in the house after school and my mother wasn’t there we knew something was terribly wrong.
I remember her in the garden, in the kitchen, at the sewing machine, at my bedside tickling my back when I was sick, and always available to hear my life’s crises.
I remember the countless hours she must have spent making toys for me from poster board. A little house two stories high and all the furniture to go in it. The beds had slits to slide my cardboard dolls into, the oven door opened. A grocery with little vegetables and boxes of cereal cut out of magazines to put on the shelves. The butcher was a pudgy little man who wore a white apron and a crisp white hat. She drew me page after page of a homemaker going through her day--ironing, cooking, feeding the baby, sitting by her husband on the couch, shopping, and finally getting her rest! It took till I was a woman with my own children to realize how much time went into our puppets, doll furniture, milk charts, chore charts, paper houses, schools and stores. They all gave me endless hours of playtime.
My mother was my pastor dad’s right arm. Always there keeping his books, keeping his house, painting signs and posters, feeding guests. I cannot ever remember one complaint from this tal over all the time she poured into others.
My mother taught me what it meant to have a personal relationship with my Savior. Her example still guides me. Tomorrow I will ask the Lord to tell her hello and that I love and miss her.
What lessons I learned from these two women. Both taught me that joy is not found in possessions or position but in relationships. Both taught me that being a woman, a wife, a mother is a wonderful role to have in life. Both taught me how to treasure sunshine, babies, nature and life itself. I couldn’t ask for more.
Now I am a grandmother and I make sure I find time to tell stories to my children about my life. I have teas with my grandchildren and keep them at my side as I bake. I love it when my 2 year old granddaughter marches in the door and wants to know if I’d like to cook with her. Her brother asks if I remembered to buy chocolate chips for the cookies. And as bedtime comes closer they ask if I will tell them a pirate story before they go to sleep.
Knowing that not everyone is as blessed as I am I try to be a mother to those who never had what I did. I have a little Sunday School class with several girls that haven’t been as fortunate as me or my children. I bring homemade goodies and try to have activities with them that nurture them. I hope I put a few good memories in their lives by mothering them when they are with me. God has looked at my heart and given me three extra blessings after our four biological children --our adopted children. Mother’s Day is a very, very special day for me and tomorrow I will celebrate my heritage and my own motherhood. To all my friends I want to say Happy Mother’s Day!
Tags: Mother's Day Mother Children Grandmother
