This Lady

Our lives are so very different, but I become more and more like her every year. Searching through scads of picture files for this post, I was not surprised to find that I didn't have many pictures of my mom; it's a mom epidemic. The ones I did have were mostly staged for a portrait, which she clearly does not enjoy posing for. This one, however, is the most natural photograph I've ever seen of her because she didn't know it was coming and she is in her most comfortable setting, being Nana.

She was a master of this chapter of her life, the one I've living right now. I don't remember it ever being simple either. For instance, when she had preschoolers still home, she ran a daycare out of our house. It wasn't just babysitting; she did crafts, carted us to Easter egg hunts in the park, made every meal, and at one point I remember her having 13 children. I don't recall how many she had in the house at the same time, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was all at once more often than not. When she used to buy groceries, she'd fill one cart with milk, and another with groceries. I thought about that today when I was putting four gallons of milk in my cart, hoping they'd last through the week.

After we were old enough to all be in school, she went back to college and earned her bachelor's degree. While she was in pursuit of that, she also had two jobs and managed to put a hot meal on the table every night, get sack lunches ready, and before school there were always scrambled eggs or pancakes or biscuits and gravy waiting for us. She did all her grocery shopping on Saturdays, taught children's church on Sundays, and I can't be sure of this, but I'm guessing she was on the dean's list for her grades. I don't remember ever going to church on Easter Sunday without a new dress that she usually had made, even if it took a few all-nighters to get it done.

There are countless times in my week when I come to making a decision on parenting or whatnot that I ask myself what she did in my shoes or what I think she'd do. Sometimes I call her if I can't work it out for myself and even though her life is riddled with needy people and obligations as a teacher, mother, and grandmother, as well as being an constantly-worked parishioner at church, she is never too busy to chat for as long as I need her.

I don't think she'd call herself super-anything, even though I think everyone that knew her thought she was the ultimate super-mom. She'd just tell you she did what she had to do.

It's difficult not to compare myself to her. I can see the transformation in myself from the beginning of my life as a wife and mother to now, but I remember her always being the same. When you're a kid you don't remember the changes that took place in your parents' lives because to you they were always grown-up. Reflections on my past lead me to believe that I'm walking, not only in her shoes, but in the very prints her shoes left on the journey.

Gratitude doesn't begin to describe what I feel here, not only to my mom for doing what she had to do and leaving a legacy of stability and responsibility, but to God for setting my life up so perfectly so that at least the ancient boundary stones were set before He placed me on this path with all these kids.

These kids, who right now are sewing superhero capes for the beanie babies out of an old towel, splashing around in the rain under umbrellas, baking a cake, and anxiously awaiting the start of school tomorrow. Just like their mom.