a birthday for the madre.

 {oh how do I love thee, let me count the ways}

Today was the anniversary of my mother's birth. 

Praise.

Because from my mother, I have learned: 

- How to clean a house

- How to decorate a mantle

- How to take care of people

- How to pray

- How to let the water do its healing

- How to be a hippie

- How to be happy

- How to be funny

- How to laugh

- How to use proper grammar

- How to make a house a home

- How to appreciate a big family

- How to worship the Creator

- How to create

I was reminiscing the other day that my mom helped me do my mascara until I was 18. Seriously. One of my fears going away to Faulkner was that I would never know how to apply my own mascara. I hate things touching my eyes.

My mom helped me dry the back of my hair until I was 15. I could never get it straight enough. My mother (affectionately known by a preschool student as "Miss Perfect Hair") graciously would take over control of the brush when I thought my arms would break. Again, a fear of mine as I aged was that I would never be able to accomplish a smooth rear view (folically-speaking, of course). 

The thing is, I can do my own mascara. And I can straighten my own hair. 

I also can pray on my own, teach Bible classes on my own, and decorate a mantle on my own. 

But I couldn't have done any of these things without the teaching of my mother. 

So happy birthday, Mom. Without you, my prayers wouldn't be as personal and heartfelt, and my home just wouldn't be as beautiful. 

And, perhaps more importantly, my hair would be a mess and my eyelashes would stick together.