Mother's Day

Every time I pull out my powerdrill to fix something, I think of my Grandma Coons who taught me that power tools are for girls, and that if it needs fixin' there's no reason a boy can fix it better. Every time I power up the saw in my garage, the smell of sawdust takes me back to her woodshop and I am guiding a block of wood through the blade with Grandma standing beside me reminding me to keep my fingers safe.

Every time I fold up a piece of aluminum foil to reuse later, or rinse out an empty sour cream container to save for storing leftovers, I remember my Grandma Eldredge doing the same thing while cleaning up the kitchen after a holiday dinner, recycling when it was called "frugality" instead of "earth friendliness." I smell that smell that was distinctly Grandma Eldredge, and feel the texture of her red polyester dress, and see the way she moved around the kitchen, and I am happy that she is with me in my own kitchen.

Everytime I hug the love of my life, I'm hugging the product of the wonderful woman who raised him and who welcomed me wholeheartedly into her family 17 years ago.

And every time I make cookies with my girls, push the pedal on the sewing machine while they guide the fabric through, go on a field trip to watch them interact with their classmates, teach them to clean the bathroom floor the right way (instead of just "pushing dirt around" or "making mud"), show them the difference between seedlings and weeds, sort raspberries for raspberry jam, or wrangle their Girl Scout troop through yet another badge meeting, I channel my mom, who did all of these things and so much more, teaching me through her love and laughter how much fun it is to be a mom.

Thanks to all the moms in my life. Especially my own. Mom, I love you and thank you for all the love, lessons, and sacrifices you made for me. But more than anything I thank you for teaching me how to be a mom.