Mother's Day
Hi Mom,
Today's Mother's Day, as you could probably tell by the hoard of men in the greeting card section of the grocery store. While those greeting cards are great and can definitely make me cry, I'd rather use my own words (in addition to the card because I didn't want to seem cheap). Of my many, many talents (like, three talents), writing is one. Buying nice, thoughtful gifts is not. Also, having money to buy nice wood flooring is also out of my skill range. So here's a blog post, for free (Dad would like that so win/win).
There are lot's of things that I could say, but I don't want this to be a discombobulated mess. I guess we'll see how this goes.
You've been making me food for forever. It's a good thing too, because my breakfast cooking skills are limited to frozen sausage and canned biscuits. Seriously, it's a disaster when I try to make cream of wheat (turns out there's a difference between salt and sugar. Go figure). And I panic when I try to cook much of anything (even frozen pizza). You make food so good, it makes me excited to eat leftovers (which is good because there are always leftovers).
You taught me how to love my hair for what it is. You saw the fluffy, frizzy mess on my head and you were like, 'hey, that's curly and think and gorgeous, here's a comb, here's some product, you're welcome.' While my hair is far from tame, it's not the...whatever it was six years ago.
But aside from just my hair, you taught me how to love me for who I am. You always encouraged me to write, even when, exasperated, I claimed "I don't write that kind of stuff." That kind of stuff, essays and speeches and reports, made me a better writer. And a more patient person because I really hated that kind of writing. You never said I couldn't/shouldn't/wouldn't be a writer. You heard my dream and said, "do it."
You never tried to keep me from wearing skater skirts (as long as I had leggings or shorts underneath because those things are short). You didn't keep me from wearing converse with floral dresses and flower crowns. You let me play Taylor Swift and old hymns on the out of tune piano in the dining room. You let me eat raw cookie dough. You let me be who I am, yet kept making me better.
You are so selfless. I've watched you pour into your family more than any one person should have to, and you've done it with grace and patience and faith in God. I can only hope to be as selfless as you one day.
As I get older, I keep realizing how similar we are (minus the selfless thing. Still working on that). I love that we're similar. I love (and hate) that you feel my hurt as deeply (and sometimes more deeply) than I do.
When it was 4:30AM and I couldn't sleep because I had a broken, you sat with me and reminded me that it'd be okay. You defended me when I didn't have the words to defend myself. You let me make my own decisions, and haven't failed to be there when those decisions turned out to be stupid.
You've taken me to a hundred and one tournaments. You've driven me around while I've been procrastinating getting my license (sorry). You've made me clean the kitchen and the living room and my bedroom and I'm so glad for that. You taught me how to wash clothes so my future college roommate won't make fun of me.
Our relationship isn't perfect. It never will be, because we're two imperfect people. But even in this imperfection, you never ever give up on me. When I've been broken down and confused and hurt, you've been right by my side, even if I haven't said much.
There are so many things I should thank you for. It hurts just to think about it, because I know 'thanks' will never be enough. And when I don't know how to say things, I don't say them. And when I think I'll cry saying things, I don't say them. But this time I thought I'd try writing (still making me cry, btw).
Above all, you've taught me how to be a graceful woman of God. You taught me how to laugh at myself. You taught me to listen to God's call on my life by following His call on your life. You taught me to be kind and considerate. You taught me how to make frozen sausage perfectly.
I don't say thank you enough. I don't say I love you enough. I don't say I'm sorry enough (because there are a lot of things I could/should say sorry for). I'll never be able to. There are a hundred thousand more things I need to thank you for, things I don't even know about, prayers I didn't know you prayed.
Thank you. Thank you so much. For everything.
Your daughter who's dying of gratitude-overload,
-Hadley Grace
Today's Mother's Day, as you could probably tell by the hoard of men in the greeting card section of the grocery store. While those greeting cards are great and can definitely make me cry, I'd rather use my own words (in addition to the card because I didn't want to seem cheap). Of my many, many talents (like, three talents), writing is one. Buying nice, thoughtful gifts is not. Also, having money to buy nice wood flooring is also out of my skill range. So here's a blog post, for free (Dad would like that so win/win).
There are lot's of things that I could say, but I don't want this to be a discombobulated mess. I guess we'll see how this goes.
You taught me how to love my hair for what it is. You saw the fluffy, frizzy mess on my head and you were like, 'hey, that's curly and think and gorgeous, here's a comb, here's some product, you're welcome.' While my hair is far from tame, it's not the...whatever it was six years ago.
But aside from just my hair, you taught me how to love me for who I am. You always encouraged me to write, even when, exasperated, I claimed "I don't write that kind of stuff." That kind of stuff, essays and speeches and reports, made me a better writer. And a more patient person because I really hated that kind of writing. You never said I couldn't/shouldn't/wouldn't be a writer. You heard my dream and said, "do it."
You never tried to keep me from wearing skater skirts (as long as I had leggings or shorts underneath because those things are short). You didn't keep me from wearing converse with floral dresses and flower crowns. You let me play Taylor Swift and old hymns on the out of tune piano in the dining room. You let me eat raw cookie dough. You let me be who I am, yet kept making me better.
You are so selfless. I've watched you pour into your family more than any one person should have to, and you've done it with grace and patience and faith in God. I can only hope to be as selfless as you one day.
As I get older, I keep realizing how similar we are (minus the selfless thing. Still working on that). I love that we're similar. I love (and hate) that you feel my hurt as deeply (and sometimes more deeply) than I do.
When it was 4:30AM and I couldn't sleep because I had a broken, you sat with me and reminded me that it'd be okay. You defended me when I didn't have the words to defend myself. You let me make my own decisions, and haven't failed to be there when those decisions turned out to be stupid.
You've taken me to a hundred and one tournaments. You've driven me around while I've been procrastinating getting my license (sorry). You've made me clean the kitchen and the living room and my bedroom and I'm so glad for that. You taught me how to wash clothes so my future college roommate won't make fun of me.
Our relationship isn't perfect. It never will be, because we're two imperfect people. But even in this imperfection, you never ever give up on me. When I've been broken down and confused and hurt, you've been right by my side, even if I haven't said much.
There are so many things I should thank you for. It hurts just to think about it, because I know 'thanks' will never be enough. And when I don't know how to say things, I don't say them. And when I think I'll cry saying things, I don't say them. But this time I thought I'd try writing (still making me cry, btw).
Above all, you've taught me how to be a graceful woman of God. You taught me how to laugh at myself. You taught me to listen to God's call on my life by following His call on your life. You taught me to be kind and considerate. You taught me how to make frozen sausage perfectly.
I don't say thank you enough. I don't say I love you enough. I don't say I'm sorry enough (because there are a lot of things I could/should say sorry for). I'll never be able to. There are a hundred thousand more things I need to thank you for, things I don't even know about, prayers I didn't know you prayed.
Thank you. Thank you so much. For everything.
Your daughter who's dying of gratitude-overload,
-Hadley Grace
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