only a mother...

before i was a mother, mother's day meant making my own sweet mama breakfast in bed, handmade cards, and bouquets of freshly picked dandelions.  when we were young, jesse and i would wake up extra early and i would scurry around lost in the kitchen while jesse picked "flowers" outside.  then we would set up a tv tray next to her bed and take our treasures in.  we rarely bought her real gifts, we grew up living paycheck to paycheck with a dad who worked 80 hours a week. she would wake up still sleep eyed and eat every bite of our terrible breakfast of brown scrambled eggs, burnt toast smeared with jelly that was probably past its expiration.  and she would cry when she opened our lousy handmade gifts.

over the last several years jesse and i have laughed over the terrible things we have given our parents in years past.  we picked her weeds for goodness sakes.  we made ugly handmade gifts and never even dreamed of spending our own allowance funds for a halfway decent gift.  and they even seemed to like these gifts.  well mom did at least.  the jury's still out on dad, he might still be a little bitter about getting a cut out magazine picture of what we wanted to get him shoved in a store bought card for his birthday every year.  but that's what you get when your birthday falls in the christmas induced expense hangover.  but mom not only treasured those gifts then, she still treasures them now.  in a box (or 20) in their basement carefully packed away is every gold noodle necklace, every crayon colored picture, every paper mache box we ever made for her.  she has our pottery creations still displayed on bookshelves, and stories we wrote and had bound at school piled next to them.  

as a momma myself now, i get it.  i get teary eyed when i think about asher picking out a terrible present all by himself, and giving it to me with pride.  rest assured i will have no need for a slinky, or heated slippers, or a keychain with a revolver on it... but i will treasure it because that sweet boy saw that item and thought of me.  this year i knew he had been working on a special handmade mother's day gift at daycare just for me.  my heart was leaping at the thought of opening what he had created just for me.  then he was sick.  for 4 day this week he didn't go to daycare, and this morning when small remnants of a fever remained, i whispered to matthew trying to hide my embarrassing tears, "i won't get to open the present he made for me at school."  and i was greeted with eyes that were saying "you.must.be.kidding.me." though no words fell behind those eyes.

 

and i realized... there are some things that are precious just for mommas.  there are some treasures that will forever remind you of your 21 month old baby and all the sweetness that he was at that time.  and all the love in your heart will feel like it might make you explode at the sight of the gift they made with love.  and dads will just not get it.  they would rather have that cut out magazine picture and the hope of a real present that may or may not come to be.

there really are some things only a mother could love.  and i for one can't wait to receive all that is to come.

 

"I remember my mother's prayers and they have always followed me.  They have clung to me all my life."  ~Abraham Lincoln

"Mother, the ribbons of your love are woven around my heart."  ~Unknown

Who fed me from her gentle breast,
And hush'd me in her arms to rest,
And on my cheek sweet kisses prest?

  My Mother.
When sleep forsook my open eye,
Who was it sung sweet hushaby,
And rock'd me that I should not cry?
  My Mother.
Who sat and watch'd my infant head,
When sleeping on my cradle bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed?
  My Mother.
When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who gaz'd upon my heavy eye,
And wept, for fear that I should die? 
  My Mother.
Who drest my doll in clothes so gay,
And taught me pretty how to play,
And minded all I had to say? 
  My Mother.
Who ran to help me when I fell,
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the place to make it well?
   My Mother.
Who taught my infant lips to pray,
And love God's holy book and day,
And walk in wisdom's pleasant way?
   My Mother.
And can I ever cease to be
Affectionate and kind to thee,
Who wast so very kind to me,  
  My Mother.
Ah! no, the thought I cannot bear;
And if God please my life to spare,
I hope I shall reward thy care,
   My Mother.
When thou art feeble, old, and gray,
My healthy arm shall be thy stay,
And I will soothe thy pains away,
  My Mother.
And when I see thee hang thy head,
'Twill be my turn to watch thy bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed,
  My Mother.
For God, who lives above the skies,
Would look with vengeance in His eyes,
If I should ever dare despise,

  My Mother

My Mother

Ann Taylor