Mother's Day Tribute

When I was 18, I got my first official “boyfriend.” I was giddy and happy about it, until I realized that having a boyfriend was usually public knowledge. And while I didn’t mind the people at school or all my friends or, heck, even the teachers knowing, I wasn’t so sure about my parents. As I thought about it, I realized I didn’t even know if I was “allowed” to have a boyfriend in high school. Everyone else’s parents seemed to have clear rules on these types of things, but it had never been an issue for me before, so I had never asked my parents about it. Not to mention, when you’re 18 and beginning your first official relationship since the fifth grade, telling your parents is an agony of awkward. I considered not telling them at all, but they were bound to notice unless I actively hid it from them, and I didn’t want to have to sneak around in my real relationship, especially when there was nothing they could possibly disapprove of in this relationship—except, perhaps, its existence…

I decided to test the waters with Mom. One day, as we were driving back from somewhere, I said with pretend innocence, “Mom, what would you do if I got a boyfriend?” This was supposed to give the information I needed without disclosing any on my part.

I think I can count the number of times I’ve fooled my mother on one hand. This wasn’t one of them. “Why? What boy do you think highly enough of to make your boyfriend?” I was caught red-handed.

Besides reading minds, my mother has several magical abilities, and it would take a book to list them all. For instance, I’m fairly sure that she has visions. I don’t mean the in the Joseph Smith and Nephi kind of way, although I’ve never asked her, but visions nonetheless. Frequently these visions were a source of confusion and extra hard work for me. When she decided to plant bushes and trees all along the edges of our lawn, and sent my sister out to plant and weed and whine about it, I grumbled about “Mom’s projects.” When we tore up the lawn to install a sprinkling system, I thought it’d never recover. When she decided, years later, to plant MORE TREES along the edges of the field, and sent me out to weed and whine again, I grumbled about “Mom’s projects.” When she decided to rip off one side of the house and throw everything into confusion by remodeling, I thought it was fun, but crazy. But, it turns out the Mom has visions. She can see the future. She looked into the future and saw how beautiful our house and lawn could be and then spent years gradually turning vision into reality. She did the same thing with our cabin, and she does the same thing with nearly everything she touches.

Ask her to plan a family reunion, and, before you know it, you are sent off to help take care of bits and pieces you don’t understand until you see the final product. And that’s another thing she taught me, visions require hard work and planning, sometimes years of it. But more important than being aware of the work involved, she has shown me, on countless occasions, not to be afraid of it. So what if it means upsetting the just-fine status quo? So what if that’s a project that will stretch for years? So what if you don’t know the first thing about what you’d like to do when you begin? All of that can be dealt with, and I’ve watched Mom do it countless times to prove it. She taught me to dream big, and to dream creatively, and to not limit my dreams to things that feel safe and easy.

Now, when I want to try new things, things that seem foreign to my experience, or even to the idea of “Eve” that I saw for myself, I don’t spend much time freaking out. Last year, when I was asked to take over the yearbook and make a good looking product from scratch without much training or instruction and a staff of fifteen 14-15 year olds and sell it to a thousand of their peers, I could say “ok.” When I decided I needed a new hobby, I wasn’t afraid to try something completely different. When I was told I would be moving schools and teaching more classes and starting from scratch again, I didn’t waste time grieving and moping. I remembered Mom, and everything she’s taught me about opportunity and work. When you need to create a yearbook, you do it, whatever it takes. When you need to change schools against your will, you make it work and make it work well. Mom has taught me not to be afraid of change, voluntary or un-. Her example gives me courage, hope, and determination.

I think Mom had a vision for the type of home she wanted, one in which anyone would be welcome, and her children would rather bring their friends there than leave. A home full of good places to take naps, curl up with a book, or sit talking with siblings and parents. I know that I am only aware of the tiniest percentage of how much planning, effort, and vision that took to create, but the result is that we all love our home, and we all love being there. When I bring friends home for the first time, they always say something about the atmosphere of our home.

There are so many things I have learned from Mom, so many memories of things she taught me. When I set out to write this, I had a list of five or ten that I had to cover. I’ve made it through two so far. My mom is someone whom I look up to, whom I respect and love and admire more than I know how to express. As I do this “growing-up” thing that I’m doing, I’m beginning to piece together my own vision of the future. It’s a vision of who I want to be, and I know I will spend the rest of my life working it into a reality. That vision looks an awful lot like my mom.