She Does It All

     Yesterday, Mama B talked about all that a mother does. And I am here to tell you that Apprentice-Mom does almost every one of those things to perfection. She is my teacher in nearly every sense of the word, except when it comes to learning about how to perfect my back cast as well as the hidden beauty of a Coke Zero (those lessons are best handled by Grandpa).
     As I’ve mentioned a few times I am homeschooled, and Apprentice-Mom is my teacher. Every day, she helps me and my two sisters understand how to factor polynomials, write an essay, and learn long division all in the space of a few hours. Not to mention she also takes us to scouts, art, dance, sports, goes running with friends, visits a sister who needs a smile, cooks, cleans, and goes to meetings. But there is always time to help us to learn and love to learn.
     As long as I can I remember Apprentice-Mom has been teaching us to love our Heavenly Father, and love our fellow men. When I was six, she and Apprentice-Dad hauled us out of bed early on a Saturday to help with a church food drive. And after I had learned how to carry a 40-pound bag of flour, and helped cart several to the church for distribution, she taught me and my sister how when we are serving our spiritual brothers and sisters, it’s like serving our Heavenly Father.
     Apprentice-Mom does it all. She teaches us how to serve, how to have a relationship with God, she is our school teacher, and she helps us through hard times, and how to face them. So thank you so much, Mom!! I love you!

-The Apprentice

To Mother Means to Nurture

Mother’s Day can be tough. Amiright, sister-friends?  

     Imagining the “perfect” Mother’s Day – a quiet, clean house, meals already made and dishes done, the children playing ever so nicely, “Dear sister, I believe it is your turn. “ “Oh, sweet brother of mine – do go first. By the way, have I told you how much I love you?” and then, maybe – just MAYBE, dare I say it, a nap. Then, the let down because our husbands are at work and kids are being kids and of course we won’t get a nap – we need to make dinner and do laundry and clean up messes and, and, and…

OR, if the stars align just right, and ALL of the “perfection” actually happens, it’s over in one day and we think, “Why can’t it be this way every day? Why does my family need a one day a year excuse just to be perfectly nice to me?” And then, realizing all the reasons we fall short as a mother. Don’t even get me started on these.

OR, we have a terrible relationship with our mothers and so this day brings feelings of resentment and anger. Maybe we feel like it is never enough with her.
     

OR, for my sweet sister-friends who have lost their mamas or babies or are unable to have a child and who desperately want one, this day…oh this day. My heart aches for you.

Oh, mercy. Motherhood.

And yet, when I was asked as a pig-tailed, gap-toothed seven year old, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” without hesitation, I would respond, “A mom.” Here’s why. My mama.

Whew. Dang genetically weak tear ducts. My mama is why I wanted to be a mom. Some of my favorite things that I learned from my mom…

     1. Service & Compassion. I watched mom take cookies to struggling sisters, listen to their troubles and dry their tears. I saw her run across the street to check up on our sweet widow neighbor, Valene, just to make sure she was okay. Now, it is standard at MY house for the kids to ask, “Is this dinner for us or is it for someone else?” Thanks, Mom.

2. Solitude. I saw my mom learn to be still, listen, and quiet the world’s noise for just a bit. I always knew my mom had a relationship with God. Now, my kids wait at the door of my room until I get off my knees before they ask their questions. Thanks, Mom.

3. Coke. I think I am allowed to blame this addiction on her. Just look at the picture. Also, Coke is delicious. Thanks, Mom!

     4. Education. My mom graduated from high school in the midst of serious family turmoil. She graduated with her Bachelor’s at eight months pregnant. She always had a book to read and music playing. She paid for piano lessons and sat through basketball and volleyball games. Shakespeare, the Beatles, Beethoven or jump shots were just part of our daily routine. I graduated with MY Bachelor’s with two little monkeys under three. I think there are five (?) books on my nightstand. I am teaching my three older kids to play piano. Our routine is made up of school musicals and soccer games. And I love it. Thanks, Mom.

5. Courage. I don’t need to re-hash all of the hard things my mama has been through. But, damn. This woman is a warrior. I’ve lived through some stuff myself and wouldn’t have if my supportive mom hadn’t been there telling me she’d been through it too. Thanks, Mom.

To all you sisters out there, who struggle with Mother’s Day, read this quote from mama blogger, Glennon Melton:

To Mother, to me, means to nurture. To heal, to help grow, to give. And so anyone and everyone who is involved in the healing of the world is a Mother. Anyone who tends to a child, or friend, or stranger, or animal or garden is a Mother. Anyone who tends to Life is a Mother. [Let] Mother’s Day be a celebration of all the healers and hopers and lovers and givers and tend-ers.

I am blessed to be a mother – to join ranks with my Mama, Healer, Nurturer, Hoper, Giver, Tend-er, Best Friend, Confidant, Sister and, now, Grandma. How I love you, Mom. Thank you for teaching me, putting up with me and encouraging me. I cannot thank you enough or find the words to tell you how much I love you.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Mama Bear

     I read a meme the other day that said, “I may seem quiet and reserved, but if you mess with my children, I will break out a level of crazy that will make your nightmares seem like a happy place.” Truer words have never been spoken – I think my mom wrote it. Do NOT mess with my mom’s kids. – aka, me and my sister. There is a reason that there is the phrase “mama bear” in our society. She provides a level of protection that is uncontested. She will fight tooth and claw to the death to protect what she loves which are her cubs. Have you seen “The Revenant?” Just saying. Mama bear is a perfect way to describe my mom. My mom, above all, is a protector, hard worker and extremely loving.      

     Teddy Roosevelt once said “Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.”My mother would do anything for us, and I mean anything, to make sure we were taken care of and given the necessities of life. She is one of the hardest working people I know. Growing up, she worked nine to five during the day and was on parent duty at night. I’m sure she was always tired but she never showed it. She was always putting in 110% at work and at home. We were her world and she did everything she could to make it the best world possible. We didn’t live in a mansion and we didn’t drive a Rolls. But we lived the high life. We always had a clean house, a home cooked meal made with love and clothes on our backs.    

     After work, my mom would come home and get to work on the house, laundry, dinner, family and animals. Bonnie Oscarson once said a mother is “One who can create an environment of refuge, LOVE, safety, order, nurturing, learning, encouragement and HOLINESS. Somewhat an expert in medicine, psychology, religion, fashion, teaching, music, CULINARY arts, literature, finance, decorating art, hairstyling, sports, MANNERS, chauffeuring and so much more.” My mom, by definition, was a home maker. She MADE our home.
     Finally, and probably the most important thing my mom has done is LOVE me. If there is something in the world that she knows would make me happy, she does everything in her power to make it happen. If my sister and I are happy, my mom is happy. My mom did it all with love and she still does. I hope she knows what a great mother she is. She will always be the best one to me.

-Long Rifle

A Mother's Watch

     For my first (and most likely only) submission to 3EM, I should start out by introducing myself. I’m Rangermom, and the oldest daughter of Grandpa and Grandma. I'm happy to have this opportunity to write about the person that everyone in this family absolutely adores: Grandma! (But I have the right to call her by her real name, which is Mom.) This is a tribute to Mom.
     As my kids get older, I’m beginning to get a sense of what it will be like when they leave home for good. In the early days of our country, this could cause justifiable fear and anxiety, as mail was sporadic at best, and news of your loved ones could take months or more to reach home. When a mother sent her child off, she had to trust that she’d done her best, and to leave them in God’s hands.   

     My own mom is a stay-at-home mother who had the task of raising three daughters with completely opposite personalities and interests. But she excelled at it from the start. From the time we were small, she would watch to make sure we ate our veggies, practiced the piano, brushed our teeth, attended church, and made our own beds. She watched over us as we learned different homemaking skills - cooking and cleaning and childcare. But she made it seem fun: I learned simple sewing skills by making clothes for small dolls, and my sisters and I learned to cook by burning up the mixer in over-mixed cookie dough. She took us camping and fishing and hunting. She turned us loose in the backyard every day, and watched us as we learned to play together. It wasn't always harmonious play (remember the opposite personalities), but she watched as we worked out our disagreements with only minimal intervention necessary. She watched us at our school events, our piano recitals, our debate competitions, our church activities. She watched us as we made mistakes and learned from them.
     While this childhood was pretty typical, my own children now have an asset in their lives that is definitely more atypical. Their grandmother is the very best of grandmothers. With nine grandchildren living in three different cities, she has managed the impossible task of making each one feel like he/she is her favorite. She is involved in every aspect of their lives; but where I found it intrusive as a teenager, my teenage sons welcome her companionship and advice. I can't say enough how reassuring to me that is. When these kids begin to make their mark on the world, it will be due to her influence, just as it was for me.
     With the significant increase in family members and her household tasks, you would think that her capacity to care for me as her daughter would be limited by logistics of time and distance. But she has never stopped watching over me. She still wants to know how I feel and what I'm doing. She watches me work and learn life's hard lessons. She watches over me when I'm in pain, and she watches for me when I need a steadier hand to help. She still loves to watch me play. There have been mothers for thousands of years who have sent their children out into an uncertain world. I believe that a mother's example is truly symbolic of Another's even higher love. I think that the Lord phrased it this way when He sent me to her: "Your mother will watch between me and thee, when we are absent one from another" (see Genesis 31:49).

-Rangermom

She was Grace

     My mom was born on January 27, 1919 in Rock Springs, Wyoming. Her family lived in Green River, 15 miles west. Green River was a rough and dusty town, a railroad town, fueled by coal from Rock Springs and the hard work of good people from all over the world.
     She graduated the salutatorian of her class, and was offered an academic scholarship to the University of Wyoming. But she was the sole breadwinner in her family by this time, her older siblings married and gone, and $50.00 a month was too much to pass up. She stayed at her job at the county library. Never a social butterfly, she didn’t date until she was out of high school and didn’t enjoy it much then. Her life was the library, and she loved it. She saved her money, took an occasional vacation to Denver or Salt Lake City with her mother, and quietly resigned herself to a single life.

     When the war years came in the 1940s, the troop trains thundered across the desert and stopped in Green River for coal and water. The GIs took their doughnuts and coffee from the Red Cross, took themselves to the bars for a drink, and some of them even in desperation found their way to the Sweetwater County Library. But none of them ever found my mom – or at least never found their way into her heart.
     In fact, it wasn’t until much later, after the war – after all the GIs who were going to come home had come home – that something changed. Franklin Gasson – “Gus”. He had malaria. He had jungle rot. He had what we would now call post-traumatic stress disorder. But he read, so he came to the library. And in time, it seemed, he came to the library only during her shift.
     Gus was a quiet guy who carried a lot of scars from the war. He put on a gruff exterior, but she found him to be unfailingly kind, gentle and loving. He was wonderful to her mother. And he loved the mountains and desert country of southwestern Wyoming with all his heart. When he asked her to marry him, she didn’t hesitate. They were married at high noon on June 19, 1951 in the little church she had attended all her life.    

     I suspect it wasn’t always easy for my mom to be the only female in our home. My father and I were born with a love of the outdoors. She was not. She didn’t like cooking over a fire. She didn’t care to sleep on the ground, and she certainly didn’t care to hunt. She fished, probably out of self-defense in the beginning. But I remember her being a tolerably good angler, though prone to fits of emotion with a fish on. I was there when she caught the biggest fish of her life, using one of the most unorthodox techniques I’ve ever seen. She set the hook on the big rainbow, turned around and ran up the bank and all the way to the truck. I can still see that big fish bouncing through the sagebrush…
     Then, unexpectedly, it all came crashing down around her ears. In May of 1967, my dad died suddenly. Coronary heart disease – we had no idea. He was only 53. It was as though our world had collapsed in on us. My mom was devastated. I was crushed. It was a nightmare.
     When Kim came along a few years later, my mom loved her. And when we were married in 1973, my mom got the daughter she had waited so long for. I was only 18, and I suspect that Mom realized that Kim had a better chance of helping me to be something other than a menace to society than she did. If she had any regrets about “losing” me, she kept them to herself and always treated Grandma with great love.
     In time, the old house in Green River became too much for her. An automobile accident in 1986, a knee replacement some years later, and the steady march of time made it hard for her to keep living on her own. When we suggested that she move here with us, she was again gracious. She tried it for a few months, decided she liked it and came back to stay. Our family moved her lock, stock, barrel and 700-pound pieces of petrified wood.
     In the end, with her worldly possessions reduced to those which would fit first in an assisted living apartment, and later in a nursing home room, she seemed to care less and less about those things. She cared about us. Even when she couldn’t remember the names of her grandsons-in-law or her great-grandchildren, she loved them. She loved all of us. Right up to the end, she loved us. And right up to the end, she was gracious. She was Grace.

And I miss her. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.

-Grandpa