Good mothers are nurturing, protective, selfless. But some mothers . . . some mothers are exceptional. Some mothers put their entire being into caring for their children. Every decision they choose, sacrifice they make, punishment handed down or praise given out is for the well - being of their child. They understand and embrace the enormity of their role and they never stop mothering. Ever. That mother is my mother.
My mother is songs sung in the car while I lay down in the backseat watching the treetops whiz by. She is Fun with Dick and Jane; lemon Pledge and warm sunshine; soft, flannel sheets on an overcrowded with stuffed animals bed. She is the dry towel warming me up after the cold ocean and the hot chocolate after sledding. She is the first word, always the first phone call, the one constant. She is the roots of our family tree running deep, grounding us in this crazy world. She is the heart of our hearts.
Growing up, my love for my mother was always strong, but my appreciation for her grew with each passing year. Not all mothers can so perfectly walk the line of disciplinarian and friend, commander and confidant. My mother pushed us in all areas, never backing down or giving up, resulting in three daughters with strong work ethic and drive. I’ve always been a bit of a dreamer, and rather than discouraging my dreams, she came along for the ride with me.
Mothers are the backbone of the family, being all things to all people pulling her in a million different directions. My mother is the reassuring smile from across the table when she knows I’m on the verge of tears, my childhood memory creator, protector of all my secrets and fears, telepathic communicator, a soul who harmonizes perfectly with mine. My mother is our matriarch, the glue holding us all together, helping us navigate through life. My mother is the mother I aspire to be.