Mom

You knew this was coming, didn't you? My mother left for home on Wednesday and I miss her very much. There is something so wonderful about being cared for by your mother after you've grown up. It's a little like going back home and finally knowing what it means, what it has always meant, to be there.

My childhood home was a small farmhouse in Paul, Idaho. We had a long lane lined with purple Irises and fields full of sheep. Sometimes, when my mother needed a little time to herself she would drive to the top of that lane, turn off the car, and read a book. Then she would drive back down and fix dinner, sew on Scout patches, wash clothes (including cloth diapers, ugh!), check homework, sweep floors, rock babies, you get the picture. One of the coolest compliments ever paid my mom by an acquaintance was, "Arva, you're the only person I know who can sit down in the middle of a mess and cut out paper dolls." And she could. I love that about my mom.

In our farmhouse we had a boy's bedroom and a girl's bedroom which were side by side and shared a hallway. My mom sat on the floor in the hall outside our bedrooms each night and read to us. This was my favorite time. The dinner dishes were left until later, the children were bedded down, and my mother sat in the hall and read and read and read. I loved this peaceful way of ending the day and felt my mother's love through these stories. (In case you're wondering, my favorites were fairy tales which my mother read often. I loved Thick-Headed Jack, Snow White and Rose Red, The Brave Little Tailor, and The Twelve Dancing Princesses among others.) Incidentally, several years ago my siblings and I and our children had gathered at my parent's house for a weekend. My mother began reading a story out loud to some of the grandchildren and I watched all of my siblings drift into the room and take a seat. Even as grown-ups, we still love to hear my mother read.

When I was eight years old I began piano lessons. We didn't own a piano at the time so my mother drove me to my great-grandparent's house about one mile up the road to practice. Everything about those early years of piano was difficult. My mother, who loves to sing and played flute in the high school band, knew a little and could help. She stood behind me during those excruciating practices clapping and counting out the rhythm. I hated it. When struggling through these sessions we yelled back and forth at each other in whispers. All the frustration and passion were there, only the volume was missing. She wouldn't let me quit. She occasionally remarked, "Someday you'll thank me for this," to which I would sniff and reply tartly. I'll simply say that, discounting those early years, music has been one of the great loves of my life. It blesses me, my family, and I believe, many others regularly. I'm so glad she made me stick it out.

I tried out for cheerleader when I was in the 8th grade. I practiced for weeks and had every expectation of making it. But I had huge glasses and frizzy hair, I didn't know how to do back handsprings,and I looked terrible in those little skirts cheerleaders have to wear. My mother agonized. Should she discourage me? Should she save me from the pain of certain failure? The tryouts came. Teresa Helms flip-flopped all over the gym, Lacey Ann Warren had perfect hair and no glasses and Heidi Harding looked very sweet doing a cheer about 10 little Warriors in her tiny skirt. I was devastated. I held the tears in until I got home and then I cried and cried. So did my mother. But after a few days I felt better and when it was time to choose class officers I decided to try again. After all, what was the worst thing that could happen? Oh, yeah, failure. But hey, I'd already tasted that and the bitterness was fleeting. Learning not to be afraid of failure was a much richer gift to me than safety from temporary pain (or, for that matter, a year on the Freshman cheerleading squad). I am so grateful my mother had the courage to let me find that out.

When my mother heard Jay give his homecoming talk after returning from service in Argentina as a missionary she leaned over and said to my father, "Now there is a boy I could feel good about my daughter marrying!" Need I say more about her impeccable taste and good judgment?

When London was born (stillborn) my mother came and stayed. We buried her in Boise and then moved home for the summer to be near family and heal. We had many quiet conversations. I sometimes refer to my mom as my plain-speaking Jethro. She has a way of seeing past all the fluff and getting to the heart of the matter and helping me to get there, too. I don't remember what I said one day but I remember her response very clearly. She said, "Lauralee, you're finding out that you need the Savior just like the rest of us." And I knew she was right. All my life spiritual things had come so easily for me and now, suddenly I was facing death and oh, so much heartache. My mother's comment led me to visualize the Savior tenderly reaching out toward his lost lamb, and suddenly realizing that the lamb he was drawing toward him was me.

There are so many other things flooding into my mind as I write this. But it is late, I am tired and my children are gathered in the upstairs room waiting for their bedtime stories. Tommorrow I'll wash clothing, sweep floors, sew on Scout patches, change diapers, check homework, and hope to creep away by myself for a short read where no one will interrupt me. And if my children are really lucky, I'll make time to sit down in the middle of a mess and cut out paper dolls.

I love you very much, mom!