Mom, Remember the Time...?

Dear Mom,

I know you don't like commercialism for Mother's Day. Your practical self won't allow us to indulge in showering you with Mother's Day cards and balloons and material mementos. No, you've always insisted that we keep these annual celebrations to a minimum. No fuss. No frizz. No flare.

But that doesn't diminish our desire to celebrate you, the woman who raised us and set our feet on the individual paths we would take in life. So today, on this one day dedicated to all mothers, I want to walk back down memory lane with you to revisit and dust off some shelved recollections that demonstrate the amazing mother you are.

Mom, remember your original desire to have a nice even four or six kids? (Sadly, you were able to carry only five out of your six pregnancies to term.) We might have caused you to regret that desire at times, but you never let us know it. Instead, you made us all feel like your special treasures.

Remember letting us press our ears and hands to your belly as it expanded with our newest sibling? Feeling their kicks and hearing their heartbeat bonded us together as a family even before birth.

Mama, remember teaching us to work? You made it sound like folding stacks of cloth diapers was the greatest thing on the planet. Because we trusted you, we believed you. And because we believed you, we discovered that work could be fun.

Remember that big yellow wooden sandbox you built for us? What kind of mom builds something like that for her kids?!? Endless hours were spent by us in that creation -- just us and our imaginations.

Mom, remember the endless stacks of homemade waffles you made for us? I make them now, but they never seem to taste as good.

Remember those cupboards?! Your perfectionist nature kept you working at refinishing them for at least ten years. We never did see the mistakes you kept finding. Although we complained frequently about not having cupboard doors for half of our childhood, we admired your determination.

You taught us to sew and embroider. I hated it, but you routinely dragged me indoors for my daily session of working a needle and thread. When I had performed my required number of stitches, I was always pleased with my progress, mostly because you made me feel like I had done the best work you had ever seen -- except for the time I accidently embroidered the picture to my skirt.

Remember all those papers you edited? A good portion of my degree belongs to you. I never received lower than an A- on a paper because of your corrections. All students should be so blessed.

Remember all those walks around the block? You were out to get exercise (and probably some peace and quiet too), but never seemed to mind when one, or all five, (plus our five cats) traipsed along behind you.

You courageously pulled us out of school and homeschooled us in an age when homeschooling was still the new kid on the block, allowing us the freedom to develop our own personalities and identities. Your pioneering spirit infused itself into all of us. Today, none of us is a follower thanks to your trailblazing example.

Oh, and remember all those trips to the emergency room? Anne bit through her lip after her bicycle jump landed awry. John smashed his face into our driveway while attempting a wheelie on his bike, only to have the front wheel drop off at the moment he was ready to land. When the dog pulling Richard on his skateboard spied a cat, Richard's board hit a rock and became airborne. His landing on the sidewalk was none too graceful and promptly knocked him unconscious. I accompanied you on these and all other emergency room visits. (Only Linda escaped childhood unscathed.)

But, when I broke my neck in an auto accident, it was your face I longed to see come through those hospital room doors because you are comfort personified. And you did not fail me. You stayed the night (I don't know where) and remained with me the next day too. When I finally came home, you bravely cared for me even though you were terrified you might damage something ... but I knew you wouldn't.

Oh Mom, I could go on and on. You have been there when you needed to be there. You have listened when I needed a sounding board. You have taken action when I needed things accomplished. You have loved unconditionally, encouraged endlessly, and helped mold and shape me into the woman I am today.

How can I thank you enough, except to live you proud?

You are amazing and I love you!

Your daughter,

Margie

Passing Notes

I had not had a good day with one of my daughters. When I said, "Don't," she did it. When I said, "Do it," she refused. When I smiled, she frowned. When I frowned, she smiled. By day's end, I was pretty frustrated and let her know it.

While cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, I noticed her slip quietly into my bedroom. "What are you doing?" I asked. Without looking at me, she muttered, "I left something for you."

Next to my computer lay a note. "I don't want to live here anymore," she had scrawled angrily. Still a little steamed by the way the day had progressed, I hastily wrote, "Some days I don't want to live here either." I carried it back to her room and dropped it just inside her doorway, then continued getting the other kids ready for bed.

A little while later I again found a note next to my computer. I responded. So did she. Back and forth the letters went from her room to mine and back again. And then we passed each other in the hall. She simply handed the note to me. I wrote out a response and handed it back.

Finally, she was quietly standing at my doorway. "Would you like to talk?" I asked. "Okay," she shrugged. We sat down on my bed and shared our hearts. Tears flowed. The wall between us was torn down and a bridge built up again in its place.

Passing notes isn't my usual method of solving differences, but it worked for her. Thank You, Lord, for yet another victory today!

I am a Teacher. I am a Mother.

I am a mother. I am a teacher. I was a teacher before I became a mother, but there are times when the teacher in me is silent and I must love as only a mother can.

This weekend I attended the wedding of a former student. It was a joyous occasion and one more reminder (not that I need any) of the fact that I am getting older! When, I had to ask myself, did that cute little boy change into the handsome, young man awaiting his bride at the altar? Not while I was watching, I can assure you! Was he really old enough to do this? Legally?! The grey hairs upon my head confirmed the bittersweet truth.

Other former students were also there. We've never really lost contact, but walk different paths that seldom cross, except for times like these. We chatted and laughed, catching up on each other's lives, and reminiscing. Oh, how the memories came rolling in!

But, for two of these students the memories don't always bring a smile to their faces. I was their teacher during the darkest period of their young lives, when their mother lost her battle with cancer.

Although we don't mention it at social gatherings such as these, I have to wonder, have they truly healed? I remember the talks and the tears we shared. I remember the funeral and the empty, lost looks in their eyes. Their whole world had collapsed. Barely in their teens, they still needed a mother's love and guidance. And she had been such a wonderful mother.

Each child grieved so differently. The boy simply shut down, not wanting to discuss her or anything about her, except for the one day when he asked me to take him to her grave. Even then, he changed his mind at the last minute. The girl wanted to talk, wanted to share her thoughts and feelings. She needed to be around people so she wouldn't be alone with her thoughts. She showed up at school the day after her mother's death. When we expressed our surprise, she said simply, "I want to be here. It's like a second home for me."

The years passed. Their father remarried. They accepted their step-mother, but she would never replace their mother. She couldn't. The shoes left behind were way too big for anyone to fill. They moved out on their own. Worked. Traveled. Partied. Socialized. Smiled. Drifted.

This weekend, I wasn't satisfied with the simple "How-are-yous" and "I'm-okays." This weekend I felt I needed to reconnect with them. I needed to know how they were really doing deep down inside. I invited them to lunch, just the two of them, so we could talk and catch up. They quickly agreed. "I'm probably going to cry," he said quietly and looked down. She squeezed my hand.

I am their teacher, but it is my mother's heart that loves them so deeply.

The Blind Side

I'm not a football fan. I'm not a Sandra Bullock fan. I'm not even a Tim McGraw fan. But after watching this, I am a big Tuohy fan.

The Tuohy's were a rather ordinary Christian family until the day God asked them to do something very out of the ordinary. He asked them to care for one of His bigger kids who needed a family. (By bigger I mean 6-foot, 4-inches, and 310 pounds!)  When the Tuohy's opened their home and hearts to Michael Oher, they had no idea of the journey they were embarking upon. They did, however, know Who would be directing it. Placing their complete trust in their Heavenly Father, they started out on the road less traveled and graciously left a path for others to follow.

Cautions:
1) A couple scenes where cussing is used, some with a bit of violence. (He did grow up on the wrong side of the tracks.)
2) One very modest bedroom scene, but I still won't let my younger kids watch it.
3) Why couldn't they dress Sandra Bullock more modestly?!

Handprints on My Heart

Everyone has a passion -- something that drives and gives them purpose in life. Some enjoy nothing more than curling up with a good book and slipping away into another life spelled out upon the pages before them. Others thrill to the adrenaline rush and heart-pounding excitement of excelling at an athletic competition. And still others seek to better the world by bravely exposing evil and changing things for the better.

My passion is kids. Over the years I have worked with hundreds of children -- either through teaching, volunteering, foster care, or as is the case for five very special kids, adoption. Seeing the world through their eyes, watching their lives unfold day by day, and guiding their development is my highest privilege. It is my joy. It is my heart.

Each child who has walked with me in my life's journey, either for a moment or a life time, has left something behind -- a little handprint on my heart.