1.09.2013

Count On Me: Mom

So maybe it seems typical that I would start with my mom with this series, but why not? She's the one that I started everything with. She has most all of my firsts. I'm not sure why just the thought of writing this post makes me weep, but it does. I guess I'm not sure exactly where to start.

I should probably start with a great big "thank you mom" for everything. Thank you for growing me, teaching me, guiding me, listening to me, helping me, caring for me. It is because of you that I am the woman I am today...ok maybe a little because of Dad too...and Grandmother Eudell. I'm convinced that's where I get my stubbornness and fiesty-ness from. :)

My mother is the greatest woman that I know. She is greater than your mom. I promise. :) She has the biggest heart of anyone I've ever known. She genuinely cares for others. All others. Regardless of their situation. She will give even when she has nothing left to be given. She oftentimes does not take the best care of herself because she is so busy taking care of others. She deserves everything in this world and more. She's the type of lady that can't sit still for a long period of time because there's always something to be done. Cooking, cleaning, crafting, organizing, reorganizing, etc etc etc. Jason sometimes says that I can be like that at times, and I'd like to think so, but there's no topping my mom.

My dad recently told me a story about how he learned how to love simply by watching my mom. He said that he was amazed by her when they were first together. About how one woman could love so much. He was amazed at how she could just love his family as if they were her own. Without abandon. And then when they had children how she could love them so much. It was so touching to hear my dad speak so fondly of her. He doesn't do that often. He's a man of few words, but when the few words come...they're usually pretty important. Guess who taught me that? My mom. Maybe you haven't even heard that from him yourself mom, but you should. You taught dad how to love. And that's impressive. Dad can't be taught much.

Every Christmas I am reminded of a random Christmas when I was growing up. I was maybe 6 or 7. I remember sitting and looking at all of the presents on Christmas eve, and being so wonderfully excited to tear into them the next day. There were so many gifts. Gifts for Ryan and Adam and me and Dad...but none for Mom. I felt terrible. I felt the worst sadness of my short little life. "What would mom have to open? She can't have nothing to open." I thought. I remember being angry that I didn't have anything to give her. I remember being angry that I had so much under the tree and she had nothing. I was going to do something about it. I remember that she was on the phone. The phone in the dining room that had the cord that was like 50 ft long. I snuck into the kitchen and opened up one of the gadget drawers and found something that I thought looked pretty. It was the lid to the top of a mason jar and it had some kind of design pressed into it. It was shiny and small. I wrapped it up as best as I could. I remember the next day being so excited to open my presents, but being even more excited to see my mom open up her present. When it came time for her to open it she was surprised that she even had anything to open. She was the one who had carefully placed everything under the tree after all. I remember when she opened it that she had tears in her eyes and said "Thank you very much. I love it." Later we talked about it and she told me that the only gift she ever needed was for her children to love her. "She has to want more than that right?" was my thought. But I understood. Or at least I thought I did. Now, having my own children, I know I do. You may not even remember this Christmas from when I was little mom, but I do. And it's been a huge deal to me ever since.

There are a thousand and one things I could recount about my mom. Some I'm sure she would recall and others that she probably doesn't think were significant. There's far more I'm sure that she remembers and that I don't. I guess that's what special about moms and daughters. That they fill in each other's gaps. That they balance each other out. That they are the same person in a different body.

I am so eternally thankful and appreciative of my mom. I am constantly finding myself saying or doing things like my mom and I love it. I look in the mirror sometimes and see her in me. In my eyes. And always in my eyebrows. I pray that she only becomes more prevalent in me as I grow older. I am proud to be her daughter. It used to annoy me because I could go NOWHERE without someone recognizing me as "Vickie Waddell's daughter" How vain of me to have been annoyed. How selfish of me to have thought that it was all about her. Because it is so obvious that she made me so much more important than herself. How else could everyone know about me? It was because of her. Everything is I'm finding out.

I feel like my mom and I have a wonderful relationship and always have. She has always been the parent and I have always been the child. We never went through the knock-down-drag-out-we-want-to-kill-each-other phase that I hear about with so many other moms and daughters. With my mom there has always been understanding, graciousness, love, care, affection, concern, attention, dedication, devotion, loyalty. What a wonderful woman she is. I am blessed to have her.

From our many Disney trips, dance classes/recitals/competitions, classrooms, breaking hotel windows (don't ask), sewing and painting until the early early morning hours, concerts, midnight movies, and so much more...I would trade none of it. For anything. I would trade no one for you mom. I Count On You and you can Count On Me. I love you.

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