Thanks, Mom.

Here's a picture of my Mom and I, ready to go to a rodeo in Jordan...at least that's what it says on the back of the picture, in her beautiful, precise handwriting. I was not quite one year old, but already in bell bottoms, and I don't know if you can tell, because the picture is a little faded, but we have MATCHING tank tops! (1972, so they were polyester. We were hot. Literally.) You can't really see, but she's wearing pointy-toed cowboy boots with black tips, I think.

As I sit here, trying to type a tribute to my Mom, with jelly faced kids climbing on me, and fighting like raccoons, I have a MUCH greater appreciation for who she was, and how much of her life she devoted to us.

She was an older mama, just like me, in the day when most women became mothers at 19 or 20. And she lived in a little trailer house on a hill, just like me, when her kids were toddlers and preschoolers. She went from being an independant, working girl with a red GTO convertable, to a stay-at-home mom and ranchwife that had to fit the whole family in the cab of a pickup.

Here are a few memories I have of my Mom, from when I was growing up:

There was always coffee, and the house usually smelled like coffee. I love that!

She had a most impressive record collection, because when she was single, I think she bought music before food. As kids, we learned to appreciate Patsy Cline, Jim Reeves, The Sound of Music and a funky little album called Groovy Grubworm.

Mom made us all the cool childhood treats: Jello blocks, Rice Krispie treats, chocolate chip cookies, and cinnamon toast. BUT, if you pretended like you were sick to stay home from school because you didn't like the teacher, she would make you toast soaked in warm milk. (She could be THAT mean! I think I have the recipe, for another little girl who may do that...)

She read, constantly. There were books everywhere, and we went to the library often. And we got a LOT of books at garage sales. For me, books are still security and comfort, and I think they must cut down on energy costs by insulating your home if you line the walls with them.

Mom took (and still takes) horrible photographs of people. It's one of the things I love best about her. There are a lot of pictures with the tops of heads cut off, or people too far away, or a little blurry. I love that she spent more time enjoying friends and family, rather than practicing taking pictures of them. She'll hurry and try to get the shot, because she's been busy visiting or playing with the kids. Love it!

My Mom really took time with people, and made them feel special. She would stop what she was doing to have coffee with someone who dropped by, or if one of her friends was needing time and love, she'd forgo mopping the floor to listen to their problems. When we got home from school, we'd sit at the table with her and eat graham crackers with frosting and talk about our day. And my Gramps loved to visit with her, and have coffee. Even though she didn't get all the stuff done on her list, most days, she got more done, relationally, than a lot of people do in a lifetime.

She wasn't afraid to be silly. What a relief to children! Mom enjoyed the Apple Dumpling Gang with us, and books like How Fletcher Was Hatched. She'd laugh until she cried, and we'd laugh at her! And when Aunt Arlene came over and they gave each other perms, they laughed a lot and drank a lot of coffee. We could never figure out what was so funny, and they shooed us outside or downstairs, and visited and laughed more.

We were hugged a lot. And told we were loved, a lot. And we still are.

We got spanked a lot. With wooden spoons. (We earned most of those spankings, honestly.) And we spent some time sitting in hard old kitchen chairs, watching the clock slowly tick the minutes to freedom.

Mom got up, first thing in the morning, and drank her coffee and read in her Bible and her Daily Bread, and prayed. That was the first thing we saw, most mornings. It was her quiet time, her get-ready-for-the-day time, her little window of calm before the storm of life hit.

There are so many little things and big things that can't even be touched by a blog post, about Mom. I've never really tried to put them down, in writing, and find it really difficult to capture her with words. How do you describe a mother's hug, or her voice, or her funny little habits, or the things that drive you wild that make a mother a mother? Well, I can't do it justice, probably not in a million years.