Yes, two posts in a 48 hour period, crazy right?
Today is Mother's Day. I realize that I spend a lot of space on here talking about my Dad, and how well we get along. There have been a few times where I have made a point of saying that my Mom and I just don't communicate well. Well, both of those statements are true. However, I wouldn't trade my Mom for anything in the world.
The facts of the matter are:
I do get really cross sometimes. LeAnn may be the only person at Concordia that has witnessed this (sorry about that, LeAnn). My Mom definitely carries the brunt of those "attacks." And she still loves me. My Dad once told me, "Anna, you and I are a lot alike. And we're both very lucky that your Mom loves us both a lot. She has more love for you than you even know." That struck me. It came during the crazy graduation season my senior year after she had asked for the third time before 1pm if I had heard about who was going to my graduation party. I was annoyed. Extremely annoyed. Mom and I were crying and yelling in the truck cab while Dad and Josef just sat there, silent. The fight ended with Mom saying she wasn't going to talk to me--now that was a blow to the face. Dad pulled me aside and I thought for sure he was going to chew me out too, but he didn't he told me that. (see up a few lines) That was probably the nicest way he could have told me, "I see why you're annoyed, but you were being a total jerk to your mom." We still fight. We probably always will a little bit. But I know that she will never stop loving me, and I love her for that.
If I'm super excited about something, chances are that Mom is the one that will really get it and be happy with me. This applies from the girliest thing to the most academic achievement. She's the best cheerleader around--really.
It doesn't take much to make her cry in way of sappy movies. There are certain points during a variety of chick flicks that I know if I look at her I will see puffy red eyes and a wadded up tissue. I always give her a hard time, but only when I'm not crying... ha. The funny thing is, I've always felt like I needed to be the strong one. I make a point of not letting my Mom see me cry. I'm not entirely sure when that started, but probably around the time I got my brace and I needed her to know that I was going to be okay, that I didn't need pity. But when I do start to cry during those movies, I know (without looking) that Mom is crying too.
We share a birthday, and the day I can't celebrate with her on the day will be a sad one. (Look for that blog post in the future, folks. It's sure to get one.) I've always loved being able to tell her Happy Birthday when she tells me Happy Birthday. It's a great way to wake up in the morning.
She's a pretty great lady, and she cares about people more than anything.
I love you, Momma.
"Oh for a heart that does not ache. And for a backbone that won't break. For some steady feet or sturdy ground, a road that isn't going to let me turn around and run. For a thousand times to sing. To wear wisdom like Soloman's robe. For the patience and perspective of a man like Job. Just to soar on wings like eagles for no other reason than the bird's eye view for a flight or two. ... Who I wish I was. ... I never could be good enough to measure up, but You want to take me as I come. You're the only one that cares to take me as I am." [Nichole Nordeman]
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