I am a mother.

The other night for dinner, I cooked spaghetti and served peaches out of a can warmed up with brown sugar and butter on top.  Because she did.  Bailey asked why we always have that with spaghetti.  My answer, “because that’s what my mama did.”  

On the way home from church I drove by the iris garden to make sure that my kids know what irises are.  I made them read every sign and look at every flower - I’m not sure they loved it but that’s what she would have done and someday they will make their kids do the same.  

After that, I handed Bailey a shovel and showed him how to transplant the hydrangea I had rooted.  We put a brick on another stalk for next year.   

I let Kate sit in my lap and move the fabric through the sewing machine because that’s what she would have done and when there’s thread and scraps all over the floor, I remember how I used to make Barbie dresses out of hers when I sat under her feet while she sewed.  

I drink coffee every morning because one time in college she brought her own coffee pot and left it.  I’ve been hooked every since. 

I believe in open windows, bare feet, and drinking from the hose because she said it’s good for you. 

I cook cornbread in an iron skillet and know exactly when the batter is right because of how it pours and not because of a recipe.

I remember how she used to talk about picking up all those scraps of paper on the floor when I’m digging them out of the carpet at my house.

I remember how she cried that once when I backed out of the driveway going to college and again when we loaded up our kids to head back home after a visit.  It was never long enough.   

I listen to my own voice come out of my daughter’s mouth and know that her voice comes right out of mine.  

People told me I looked like her when I was little, I didn’t see it.  The older I get, the more I realize that I have become her and I embrace it.  

Last week I said some things about my life to perfect strangers.  It took me a week to come up with the words, then I started over.  It turns out that there were really only four words that needed to be said to explain my drive to survive:

“I am a mother.”

I said about a thousand more after that but when I stripped it all down that’s really all that was left.  All that matters.  It doesn’t matter who you are or what situation you are in, you will rise up.  You will do whatever it takes.  

You will hold that baby for the first time and you will continue to hold them in your heart, in your mind, and in your lap everyday after that.  

You will use your seatbelt arm when the brakes slam on even though they are in the backseat strapped in.  

You will hot glue marshmallows onto styrofoam and glitter onto “star of the week posters.”  

You will know they are sick by the look in their eyes from 30 feet away.  

You will read their expressions, you will know their thoughts, you will anticipate their needs. 

You will talk them through smallish issues that will eventually teach them how to be friends and how to just let some stuff go.

You will watch them on stage or on a pitcher’s mound and realize that they are becoming their own people and that even though you are swallowing your own heart because you are nervous for them, they are fine.  And you had something to do with that.

You will sleep through a tornado but not a cough in the middle of the night.

You will instantly recall exactly where the eye black is that he used for Halloween and the last place you saw the right purple Barbie shoe.

You will teach them that people are different, yet sort of the same and hope they remember this and look for common ground.

You will be ok with how they sit on top of you every time you sit down and you will still try to fold them up in your lap just to make sure they still fit.

You will have conversations about real things and tell real jokes and they will get it. 

You will watch them run free, swing high, and dream big because there are no limits in life for them right now.

You will let them squirt whip cream in their mouth from the can.

You will tell them no.  It will be hard but worth it later.

You will do hard things.  Because you can.  Because you will see their faces and that’s all it will take.  

You will know that someday they will know that motherhood is not easy or glamorous, yet at the same time it is.  One day they may actually get how motherhood was your only driving force somedays and how the thought of losing that sparked something inside of you to never give up.  

But, for now you just want them to be who they are and to know they are loved.  

And they know it.

 Happy Mother's Day!

I love you because you do almost everything for me.

Her gift is giving.  She does it well.

I love you because you give the best kisses and hugs.

The Motherload.