In the meantime, I thought I'd tell you (and the world wide web) that I love you and that I think you are wonderful. Here are some reasons why:
*You taught me well. Reading. Writing. What it means to be moral. That the most important thing is to be kind (kindergarten days--Anne: "That girl is such a fatso!" Mom: I don't remember the exact quote but you were NOT PLEASED and it was a good learning experience! That girl later became quite a good friend of mine). To be proud of who you are (around age 6--Anne: "I wish I were black. Why can't I be black?" Mom: "You should just be yourself and be proud of who you are.") I don't have a black baby doll named Boy George anymore, and am no longer obsessed with the Cosby Show, so I've gotten over that wish, but I still have to constantly remind myself to be pleased with who I am. That I don't have to look or dress or act like anyone else. Just to be me. You taught me that.
*You expected our best, but then gave us agency. I can remember being stressed and exhausted the last two years of high school. Despite popular belief, you never did my homework for me. But you did stay up with me until midnight, serving me sliced strawberries with sugar on top, while I studied for AP U.S. History. And you read Hamlet and The Canterbury Tales right along with me because it was so fun for you. You are a life-long learner. You get such joy out of it. (I think you should challenge Ken Jennings to a Jeopardy duel. I think you just might win.) You never pushed, but you always reminded us of our potential. Your drive to learn and enjoyment of being productive inspired the same in me.
*You have been completely supportive. You came to all of my volleyball games even though the most exercise I was getting was from running up and down the bench and high-fiving my teammates. You convinced Dad to let me stay in dance, despite the hours and dollars that it required. I could always count on letters from you on my mission. Always. When I call you to report that I'm a failure as a parent, you give me the boost of confidence I need to begin anew.
*You have been my best friend. I had the fortune of being the youngest born to a very loving mother, which meant trips with Mom to McDonald's ("a number 3 with Sprite and a twist cone, please") and to get Mrs. Powell's bread at the mall and slurpees on the way home. It meant loads of good talks on the way to dance class and on the way home from volleyball practice. It meant that when my friends started giving way to the world I had someone to talk to about it. It meant when my boyfriend took another girl to the prom I had someone to cry to about it, even though she was going to the hospital the next morning to have a part of her cancer-laden breat removed. It meant scads of phonecalls home from BYU to a mother's listening ear as I reported that I'd failed a math test and couldn't make it as a Cougar or that I'd been accepted into the education program or that another stupid boy had crushed my heart or that I'd received an acceptance letter to the Mexico study abroad or that another stupid boy had broken me or that I was loving student teaching or that another stupid boy had made me cry or that I loved my roommates or that I was going to the Ohio Cleveland Mission with an assignment to serve in Historic Kirtland(!) or that Taylor had almost called the wedding off or that it was back on and things were better than ever!
*You are a million happy thoughts and memories. For the end of this "I love my mother" post, I'm posting pictures of things that remind me of you. Like shopping and picking blackberries, making jam and pies, reading together, your greener than green thumbs, your love of the Gospel, and on and on...
I love you, Mommy.
Love,
Anne
Anne
3 comments:
We're lucky to have such neat moms, aren't we? I love your mommy, too. In fact I thought of her just this weekend when I placed the silver pitcher she gave me at my bridal shower (with that fabulous talk about marriage and silver) on top of my newly painted vanity and filled it with (fake) ranunculous. I love that pitcher and I think of your mom so tenderly when I see/use/polish it. She is good through and through. That picture of her and Taylor picking blackberries is priceless. Happy Mother's Day to you and your mom.
I loved the photo essay as much as what you wrote. So funny. Ken Jennings (tee hee). Good work.
Annie,
Your note was the best mother's day gift a girl could have. I saw her read your blog and she was pretty pleased.
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