When I was younger, I feared this day more than any others. More than the first day of my period, more than the first day of school- you get the idea- I did not want to be like my mom.
For some reason (probably because we are so much alike, ironically!) our relationship was never strong enough for me to be proud of our similarities. We fought like cats and dogs and I tried, at the tender age of seven, to move out at least a dozen times.
I know a couple reasons for our strife:
My mom’s personality is one that requires things to be just so. Example: crafts. When we would sit down together to get our creativity on, she would paint, stitch, apply, cut out and sew together her project flawlessly- and it would turn out so perfect and beautiful. I, one the other hand, would slap, smudge, spill and haphazardly assemble my project together in a way that would, inevitably, make her cringe and threaten to never have crafty-time with me again. It wasn’t that she couldn’t handle my abstract tendencies, just that when she tried to show me how to properly do something, I would cross my arms, point my nose in the air and huff at her coaching.
Hind’s sight is 20/20, as they say. I can clearly see, now, what I should not have refused. Mom tried so hard to domesticate me like a good mother does. I refused to do my own laundry when she brought me out and showed me how the washer worked; I tuned out when she attempted to teach me how to sew; I ignored her when she urged me to practice my piano lessons and I disregarded her advice on cooking.
Geez, I was a brat.
Now, of course, I wish more than anything that I had listened to her! When I want to hem a pair of pants, I have to pay money when I could do it myself! I’m a horrible chef and know that, at least, I would have some basic skills had I been a patient and quiet listener! I would be able to compose beautiful, heartfelt, songs for my mother had I obeyed her when she advised me to practice my piano lessons.
Fast forward to today- regardless of said skills that I struggle with, I am surely becoming my mother. And each day that I discover a new part of me that comes from her, I get more and more excited!
For one, I have a new-found enthusiasm for crafts- in fact, I usually host a crafty par-tay each month (yes, my mother was practically speechless when I informed her of my new hobby).
Second (and this is by no means something only my mother does): I have been drinking more and more coffee each day! A main memory of my mom, growing up, is watching her drink her 1-3 cups of coffee each morning, while reading the Bible, newspaper or book of her choice. I wasn’t allowed to have any, but it smelled oh so good! Now, without my morning jolt, I feel like a zombie.
The most important and impacting similarity: motherhood. If ever I doubted her love for me, I know now that I was a foolish and dramatic adolescent. Have a child and you will know that the love for any other human being pales in comparison to the love you have for your own. Neither of are perfect by any means (patience was scarce at times and is for me, too) but it does not affect the pure concentration of love a mother hold in her heart. When I think of how much I love Malachi and how much my mom loves me, I want to cry. I feel that the greatest gift I have been given, besides salvation, is my son. If my mom feels the same about me, there is nothing that can convince me otherwise.
I am becoming my mother! Thank you, Jesus! There is no other woman on the face of this planet that I would rather personify. My mother is a gentle, wise, funny, honorable, honest, patient, caring, fun to be with and is a beautiful woman of God. I’d be blessed to end up with her character!
To my mom: I love you with all of my heart. Thank you for never giving up on me. Thank you for your selflessness and endurance during these last 24 years- I couldn’t have become the person I am today without your guidance and unconditional love.
I love you!!
For some reason (probably because we are so much alike, ironically!) our relationship was never strong enough for me to be proud of our similarities. We fought like cats and dogs and I tried, at the tender age of seven, to move out at least a dozen times.
I know a couple reasons for our strife:
My mom’s personality is one that requires things to be just so. Example: crafts. When we would sit down together to get our creativity on, she would paint, stitch, apply, cut out and sew together her project flawlessly- and it would turn out so perfect and beautiful. I, one the other hand, would slap, smudge, spill and haphazardly assemble my project together in a way that would, inevitably, make her cringe and threaten to never have crafty-time with me again. It wasn’t that she couldn’t handle my abstract tendencies, just that when she tried to show me how to properly do something, I would cross my arms, point my nose in the air and huff at her coaching.
Hind’s sight is 20/20, as they say. I can clearly see, now, what I should not have refused. Mom tried so hard to domesticate me like a good mother does. I refused to do my own laundry when she brought me out and showed me how the washer worked; I tuned out when she attempted to teach me how to sew; I ignored her when she urged me to practice my piano lessons and I disregarded her advice on cooking.
Geez, I was a brat.
Now, of course, I wish more than anything that I had listened to her! When I want to hem a pair of pants, I have to pay money when I could do it myself! I’m a horrible chef and know that, at least, I would have some basic skills had I been a patient and quiet listener! I would be able to compose beautiful, heartfelt, songs for my mother had I obeyed her when she advised me to practice my piano lessons.
Fast forward to today- regardless of said skills that I struggle with, I am surely becoming my mother. And each day that I discover a new part of me that comes from her, I get more and more excited!
For one, I have a new-found enthusiasm for crafts- in fact, I usually host a crafty par-tay each month (yes, my mother was practically speechless when I informed her of my new hobby).
Second (and this is by no means something only my mother does): I have been drinking more and more coffee each day! A main memory of my mom, growing up, is watching her drink her 1-3 cups of coffee each morning, while reading the Bible, newspaper or book of her choice. I wasn’t allowed to have any, but it smelled oh so good! Now, without my morning jolt, I feel like a zombie.
The most important and impacting similarity: motherhood. If ever I doubted her love for me, I know now that I was a foolish and dramatic adolescent. Have a child and you will know that the love for any other human being pales in comparison to the love you have for your own. Neither of are perfect by any means (patience was scarce at times and is for me, too) but it does not affect the pure concentration of love a mother hold in her heart. When I think of how much I love Malachi and how much my mom loves me, I want to cry. I feel that the greatest gift I have been given, besides salvation, is my son. If my mom feels the same about me, there is nothing that can convince me otherwise.
I am becoming my mother! Thank you, Jesus! There is no other woman on the face of this planet that I would rather personify. My mother is a gentle, wise, funny, honorable, honest, patient, caring, fun to be with and is a beautiful woman of God. I’d be blessed to end up with her character!
To my mom: I love you with all of my heart. Thank you for never giving up on me. Thank you for your selflessness and endurance during these last 24 years- I couldn’t have become the person I am today without your guidance and unconditional love.
I love you!!
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1 comments:
Awwww beautiful blog miss Sazaran!
I love that Martha Stewart incarnate bred such a beautiful, crafty, independent, girly that is willing to share all of her goodness with me! :)
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