Sunday is Mother’s Day. It’s a special time for all children, but I figure it means more to males. After all, the psychologists say we have attachments to our mothers that are more intense than those of the stronger, female population. The day is one about which I’ve always been excited. I enjoyed giving tribute to my mother and to the mother of my children.
Mother never made a fuss about the day. As children, we got up on Mother’s Day Sunday and dressed for church. Her garden had rambler rose bushes with red and white flowers. She’d go outside to get red ones for us and, after her mother passed, a white one for herself. She pinned them to our shirts, and we wore them proudly.
At church, the minister honored mothers with his praises, reminded us of the love Mary had for Jesus, and led us in the singing of “Faith of our Mothers.” We sat as a family on that pew. After Daddy died, we boys sat with Mother on the pew a was second from the front. On too many occasions, Mother spent at least part of the service with tears in her eyes as she missed her mother and the husband with whom she’d had three sons.
In earlier times, Mother returned home from church, changed her clothes, and cooked Sunday dinner. Remember, “dinner” is something that people in the South eat on Sundays and holidays. Supper is the evening meal that they share the rest of the time. Lunch is the meal that comes around noon. At any rate, Mother spent the next few hours of this special day working like a hired hand. For her, the best part of Mother’s Day came after we ate. She spent most of the afternoon reading the Sunday paper and napping in her chair.
As we reached our teens, we ate our Mother’s Day meal at the Copper Kettle. Of course, we boys weren’t working, so Mother paid the tab. I guess it was enough for her just not having to work over a hot stove.
The last year she was alive, Mother was too sick to cook anything. Instead, we gathered at her house and cooked hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill. Mother was worried that we weren’t having a proper meal, but we assured her that spending time together was more important than what we ate. She was gone a month later.
Amy deserves any treasure that I can give her. She gave life to a beautiful baby girl and then to a strapping son. She’s worked to be a good mother all these years and too often fretted that she’s not done a good enough job. Then she sees the accomplishments of Lacey and Dallas and knows that she’s not done so bad. What delights her more than anything is to see some of her personal traits showing up in her children. I’m quick to point out those things.
I sometimes struggle with finding gifts for Amy on Mother’s Day. Most years I spend lots of time trying to find the perfect gift. Of course, I keep receipts, just in case Amy wants to return an item. Other years, I know the best thing I can give Amy is a gift certificate so that she can pick out favorite items. The one thing that’s certain is that nothing I can give her can ever equal the love she’s given our two children and me..
On Sunday, we might go out to eat, or we might come home, eat a sandwich, and thumb through the paper. I might leave her alone to take a nap as well. Whatever it is, I want the day to be special for her. My wife is a wonderful woman and loving mother. Yeah, I know I don’t deserve her, but the Lord knows I need her.
For you moms, just remember that your little boys and grown men husbands adore you. We hope in some way to be able to prove ourselves worthy of all you’ve given. You are God’s best creation.
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