My mom is the prettiest woman this side of the Mississippi, and has been her whole life. She is sweet. She is sassy (although most people don't know it). Chances are, you don't know what she's thinking. She's a thinker, this one.
Momma Jane loves to read, loves to write, has an amazing command of "language, situations and peoples."
She has a superb sense humor and she loves being barefoot. Or rather, her feet just don't like to keep shoes on them for very long. As a child, she was allowed to go barefoot all summer long, except for Sunday mornings. She is smart as a whip(Brief side note: Is a whip actually smart? I think not. So what is she as smart as? Dolphins are supposed to be pretty smart...but "my mom is as smart as a dolphin" doesn't sound very complimentary. I will definitely be giving this some thought.). And classy, caring, godly, patient, stubborn. But if I had to pick one word to describe her, it would be dignified.
|Part of Speech:||adjective|
|aristocratic, august, courtly, decorous, distinguished, great, highbrow, highfalutin', imperial, imperious, magnificent, noble, refined, regal, reserved, respected, solemn, somber, stately, superior, upright|
She's not actually highbrow or highfalutin', but I'm really enjoying imagining the look on her face when she reads those two...so they're staying in. Oh, she's not really solemn or somber either, as you probably deduced from the picture above.
She is an outstanding mother, a precious and skillful grandmother. She cherishes her children. She's probably crying by now.
Everything you read above is stuff I've mulled over for years. I know it like the back of my hand. I've tried numerous times and in a multitude of ways to put into words and actions everything my mom is to me. I never get tired of it and I never feel I've done an adequate job explaining--to myself or to others--how special she is.
One quick illustration and then I'll sum up.
When I was a child, we had red raspberry bushes that lined the back of our yard, on both sides of the fence. Every summer, my mom would patiently, tirelessly pick raspberries for days and weeks on end. She would make pies, freeze them, and make more pies. They were wonderful.
Thing is, raspberry bushes have thorns. And no matter how careful you are, if your hands are in them several times a week for a few hours each time, you're gonna get some scratches. But there was bounty in our backyard, and by gum, it was not gonna be wasted. So every summer, my mom's beautiful hands and arms were covered with an abundance of thin, spidery scratches, such as raspberry bushes give.
But she never complained. And when we moved to a new house, we transplanted many of those bushes, only to watch them wither and die in the unfamiliar soil. So now she makes raspberry pies with frozen berries from the grocery store. And you know what? They taste just as good. It wasn't the berries, it was the love.
To sum up, I will say what I've been saying for years: If I can one day be half the woman that my mother is, I will be happy.
A daughter is the happy memories of the past, the joyful moments of the present, and the hope and promise of the future. ~Author Unknown