On Mother's Day

In our family, my dad is the sentimental one, famous for stepping back from a gathering of family or friends and stating thoughtfully, "it'll never be exactly like this again." This morning at the breakfast table, he tried to suggest that we take turns sharing things we learned from our mothers, mine sitting right next to me. Mama and I both groaned and refused to play the game, but I've been thinking about it all day long.
My mom and I are very different people. My mom is shy, never ever one to be the center of attention. She turns clammy and trembles at the mention of having to speak in public. My mom is proper, in dress, in speech, in decorum. She works hard not to stand out. My mom never breaks the rules, and she rarely bends them. She is punctual, does everything that is expected of her, never lies, and always follows directions to the letter. My mom is extremely observant, rarely forgetting a face, catching every detail. My mom is obedient, even her mother will tell you she was a perfect child. My mom is practical. She doesn't like flowers because they cost too much and die too soon. She doesn't waste time or money or energy or words. My mom doesn't complain.
I, on the other hand ... well, you know. I mean, I blog because I have so many words all the time. I buy myself fresh flowers when it strikes my fancy. My mother would tell you I was the definition of a strong-willed child, difficult at every turn. I'm terrible with faces and only slightly better with names, and I miss the most obvious details. I push the proverbial envelope at every turn, often just to get a rise out of others, usually her. I love bright colors, and I am happiest when speaking to an audience. We are very different people.
As I was growing up, these differences were difficult for both of us. As I matured, moved out of the house, made my way through college, and headed into graduate school, we seemed to find more common ground, or at least brokered a general peace. I grew to appreciate who she was as a woman and began to understand how much I could benefit from her softer, gentler ways.
Lately, more often than not, I look in the mirror first thing in the morning and feel as though I am saying hello to her. While we may not be much alike in personality, the similarities in our appearance are undeniable. And, with each passing year, I realize that while she will always be my mom - older, wiser, more aware of the pitfalls ahead of me than I can imagine, more concerned with my welfare than I'll ever understand - she's also my friend. I love being in her home, relishing her hospitality. I love calling her in the middle of the day to tell her something outrageous, then hanging up and imagining her sitting at her desk shaking her head at me. I love to shop with her, learning to appreciate her eye for fashion and enjoying challenging her conservative choices in accessories. I love to plan meals with her. She has so much to teach me! I love to introduce her to new music, movies, and technology.
I am thankful that she taught me that my feet, my face, and my hair are worth spending money to take care of. I am thankful that she taught me that presentation matters when it comes to hospitality. I am thankful that she taught me to appreciate Christian music and sound Bible teaching while we worked around the house or ran errands on Saturdays. I am thankful that she never let me get away with dusting around the picture frames, but made sure I picked each one up. I am thankful that she stayed after me to learn better penmanship. I am thankful she encouraged and nurtured my love for reading. I am thankful she forgave me and was doggedly determined to love me through my most unlovable years. I am thankful she worked harder than she had to, so that I could experience so much of life. And, most of all, Mama, I am so thankful that you always turned the mixer off BEFORE you handed me the beaters! ;-)