Mama, Just Killed A Man . . .

I actually have a lot to get done this morning, but I had to write a few words this Mother's Day about Mom. My mother is one of the most wonderful people I've ever known my entire life. She is the epitome of hard work, thoroughly raising four kids. By thoroughly, I mean that she always went the extra mile to take care of us in any and every way. For example, the only time we had to make our beds was during the summer when we weren't in school; Mom would always do it. I don't think my brother Chris still knows how to make his bed [am I wrong there?]. Anytime we had to be taken someplace or needed anything, Mom never let us down. I can't think of any time growing up when she failed to come through. I was in junior high when she went back to teaching, and she still figured out how to manage her home so that you couldn't tell anything changed. The thirty-first chapter of the book of Proverbs describes her perfectly.

But there were always times that we let Mom down. Yep, growing up we did bad things that angered her. She wasn't the disciplinarian though, so you hoped for a spanking from her instead of Dad [she could never generate the force needed for correction that Dad could]. But even then, she never stayed disappointed long.

This morning I was thinking of one time in particular that I didn't do her right. It was May of 1984. We were doing the obligatory Mother's Day projects in school, one where we made this booklet dedicated to praising our moms. On one page we were supposed to draw a picture of what our mom's do during the day. So I drew a picture of what I thought would be fun: my mother, sitting on the couch, watching soap operas [Days of Our Lives to be exact]. Now it is true that my mom would sit down in the afternoons to watch the occasional soap opera [by the way, later in college I became addicted to Days of Our Lives], but that was after she had been up since 5:30 cooking, cleaning, sewing, ironing, and performing many other tasks to keep her home spotless. I specifically remember the way she reacted when she saw the picture: she laughed a little saying, "Is that what you think that I do?" but thanked me for my booklet. Years later, I feel horrible about it. For a cheap laugh I lost that opportunity to let her know how much I loved her. Sorry 'bout that, Mom.

I know Mom isn't scarred by that incident 21 years ago. I'll see her this afternoon and bring it up; I'm sure she doesn't even remember it. She knows how much she's appreciated. But instead of just buying a card or a present for this holiday, give your mom a call, or a hug. Even if you have a lackluster relationship with her. And more importantly, check in on her in a few weeks and in a couple months from now when societal celebrations don't obligate you to do so. If it weren't for her, you wouldn't be here today.

Love ya, Mom.