I Often Go Walking...

Years ago, when I was a little girl going to Primary on Tuesday afterschool (that's how we did it in the good ole' days:) we use to sing a song called "I Often Go walking". I loved that song. Well really what Primary song didn't I love to sing? But that one in particular, I love to sing. I love how it talks about meadows and flowers and walking but especially I love it because it talks about mothers.

When I was a little girl, I thought my mother was the most beautiful woman alive. She always took such care to look and be her best. Being that my mother was a beautician (that is what they called cosmotologists back then), she knew how to "rat" hair. The back combing of one's hair was an art that took much practice to achieve. Blonde and beehive was the style and my mother could rival Mrs. Brady any day.

My mother learned how to be a good cook long before she married my father as she was the oldest of six children. But my father liked food and was easy to cook for. She could make the most yummy food out of little ingredients. There were many years when my parents were struggling with money because my brother had been very sick for a long time. My mother created "Hamburger Helper" before it came in a box. And soup...she made the most delicious soup. Every year for my brother Brett's birthday he would ask for potato soup as his special meal. She put love into every meal with the time that she spent cooking.

She was the master of hiding zucchini. Every year late summer, we would start to find green stringy things in very untypical kinds of food. I'm not talking about cookies and breads but hamburger helper meals, soups, cakes etc. But not nasty tasting like the carrots that the school lunch use to try to "hide" in the orange jello (like we were really falling for that one:( We learned to appreciate the different tastes and textures like it was a game to guess whether she had or hadn't used the mystery vegetable.

My mother was the champion of helping people. She was always cutting someone's hair or taking dinner to a sick neighbor or volunteering a school to help with something. She was busy but always found time to be home when we got off the bus to ask us about our day. Her house was immaculate and she expected us to help her do it. She arose earlier than us to start her day and went to bed later to finish things up. I remember one time in Jr. High, I wanted to go as Raggedy Ann for Halloween, this meant that my mother stayed up most of the night sewing yarn into a wig. She was so mad that I waited until the last minute to tell her but she did it.

When I was a teenager, I liked my mother. She was my friend. It wasn't until I was a grown woman with children that I really ever experienced a real fight with her. I am uncertain what I would have done without her the many years that I took care of Mikael's medical needs. She was my constant companion on our doctor trips to Utah even though she still had my brothers at home. She seemed to understand and listened when I cried about how hard it was to be a mother. I think that if I had paid better attention, I would have caught a glimpse of a smile on her lips. Not a mocking smile but one of "Honey if you think this is bad, just you wait". A smile of a mother who knew that motherhood never gets easier. It just changes it's needs as the children grow and get older.

The other day I as I drove to an appointment, I sobbed. I will tell you now that this is not good driving ettiquette nor is it safe. But I cried none the less. My children are changing and growing and becoming their own and all in one morning, they decided to tell me that I was annoying and controlling. I think probably because I am weary and stressed the words might has well have been knives cutting deep into my heart. But as I drove down the road (again not advised) attempting to rid myself of the hurt, I remembered that I was not alone. Many other mothers have gone before and will go after will hear those words as part of the "stretching" process that mother and children relationships must go through.

I discovered in that moment that this will pass and they will go...probably without me. And because of that I have to let them "kick the dog" (ME) once in a while and not take it so personally. Within reason, they should be able to feel safe telling me what they think about my parenting skills. Which by the way, need constant tweeking to get it right and I still don't. My mother use to say, "I did the best job with the information that I had at that point and time". I am beginning to see that now. I see my mother in a different way now than I did when I was a little girl. She is still beautiful. Older but the wrinkles are earned from lots of smiles and many hours of beautifying a yard. She is still a good listener but I find that I don't always agree with the things that she says. She doesn't always agree with me either but that's OK. We are grown women, we should have our own opinions. Especially on raising children.

I find myself looking at our relationship in completely new ways. Kind of like my relationship with my children. Contantly changing. Continually refining. I hope that my children as they look back at their journey with me, remember a mother who loves them, would do anything for them, constantly worries about them and prays that she will be able to help them move on to new adventures without her. Of course always thinking of her. Much like I know my mother did for me.