You are Worth Celebrating

With twenty-four hours in a day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty five days in a year, and a voice constantly close to your ears, you'd think I'd tell you more often. But I don't. I don't tell you nearly enough. In fact, I spend more time acting as if the opposite were true. But it's not. I don't say it nearly enough, but mom, I love you.

To start off, you get major props for carrying around a nine pound, eight ounce Brenna in your stomach--especially since was actually the smallest of four babies. But your sacrifices and sweat didn't stop there. As soon as I was born, you set to work feeding me, caring for me, and doing every crazy thing a baby requires. You held me when I screamed, brought me to laughter, and put up with me during all my sleepless nights. When I flailed my limbs and threw things at you, you always came back with a smile and sweet voice because you had that undeniable love of a mother. From the days you could press your cheek to mine and smile out of pure love, you have always been an incredible mother.



As I grew older, you continued putting up with my crazy antics. I've probably always been an odd child--as you are quick to declare that I am right now. You protected me from a slightly forceful and bossy older brother and I came out alive, ready to be a forceful and bossy big sibling, myself. I can't say that I remember everything you did for me because, well, I was young. But I do know that you gave me your all, you went out of your way to provide me a very comfortable life, and never stopped being so breathtakingly beautiful.



I grew up. You grew with me. You became my best friend and I didn't think a single person in the world could be nearly as perfect as you. Even if I had a "nice mommy," she did eventually go back to New York because I knew that she could never compare to my real mom. My real mom played with me, let me run in the sprinklers, took me to Grammie's house, and gave me band-aids when I hurt myself. She even accepted the horribly smelling mixtures I would make of flowers and water and call perfume. She helped me with math [which I really have never improved at] and explained things to me when I was confused. She brushed my long hair, even when I screamed because it hurt so badly. And no matter how tired or exasperated she got, never lost her motherly love and playfulness.



You have an amazing sense of humor. I still remember things you would say to me when I was a little girl, upset over a petty thing that had just ruined my day. Whether it was a funny noise, face, joke, or a simple smile and "cheer up!" you always lifted my mood. You did that for the whole family, really. And you could always schedule the most amazing vacations--and keep the business trips interesting. I'll never forget the trip to Las Vegas when you stood with me by the ridiculously enormous Coke fountain and not only filled up cups for me, but let me drink it, despite the insanity caffeine gave me. Honestly, anyone who can be around me when I've had caffeine - and still love me - is impressive, and you're the prime example. Especially now that I'm in high school and practically live off the substance.



Then there were the jumpers and pigtail braids. Yes, mom, you fed my homeschooleryness. Of course, part of that was my fault and my weird, stubborn refusal to wear pants. You tried to argue with me. You really did. You tried to keep my dignity, but when I laid down the law and proclaimed that pants were only for boys, you helped me out. Since we could not find modest dresses, you learned to sew. And you made me that wonderful first dress that I was so proud of: ladybugs. I loved to twirl around in it and make it spin. But I'll never forget the immense joy I got out of telling people that my mom had made my dress and done my hair. Thank you for also knocking some sense into me when I was about ten and telling me that I couldn't wear jumpers and those horrible black shoes anymore.



When I was seven years old, you gave me my dream: a puppy. Of course, it was a Christmas present from both you and dad, and while I greatly appreciate his contribution as well, I'm sure you played an enormous part in convincing him. And so I had the alternative to a human best friend--a dog, who was obviously far better. And when he died at a age two because of his liver disease? You were there to hold me as I sobbed, stroke my hair, and tell me that I made the right choice in letting him go. We shared tears, too. Six years ago, the whole family went through the most difficult experience of our lives. I never thought anyone could be as strong as you were during the time with Katherine. You were efficient, collected, and put together when it came to the hospital visits and everything else it took to get the job done. You seemed to be the only one that understood she wouldn't make it, yet you stood fast and continued doing every thing you could to save Katherine. And afterwards, though you went through just as much--if not more--pain as the rest of us, you didn't let it take you down. You let the tears fall because tears are meant to fall during our pain. But you didn't drown in them because you're stronger than that. As the next year progressed, you held me on the nights where I would come into the living room, too upset to sleep. And you helped life start all over again, even though both of our lives came to a screeching halt when hers ended. Whether you were doing the big things like handling the million dollar hospital bills, or the small things like dressing up with me and giving me my dream ninth birthday present, you never lost sight of hope.



And Mom, let's face it. Anyone who can mother Hudson and stay sane truly is a saint. You know I'm not kidding when I say that I'm impressed.



You've always been a wonderful example of an amazing wife. One only has to look at Dad's face when he's around you to see how much he adores you--and just a few more moments will make it clear why. Your intuition and constant sacrifice keep the family shattered and all in one piece. Your sense of humor, although sometimes on the silly side, makes him laugh as hard as the rest of us. Your deep love and unquestioning submission are just two more attributes of an incredible wife and mother.



Now I'm a teenager. So of course, we have our differences. We'll yell sometimes. We get into scathing sarcasm matches farr too often. We'll give each other the silent treatment over something incredibly stupid. Sometimes, you make me mad. Sometimes, I drive you insane. But I look at you, and I look at this life you've given me, and I could never, ever ask for a more perfect mother. You're wonderful. I can't even count all the things you've done for me over the past fourteen years, even over the past few of being a teen. From talking dad into letting me go to Georgia to holding me and praying with me for the days afterwards. From the lessons in housekeeping [put a little elbow grease into it!] to the lessons in teenage boys [though sometimes not at the most convenient times]. From the increasingly "adult-like" jokes to your hard work to guard and protect my heart. There is so much I could say, so much I could do, so much I could give you, and it would never be enough. It seems like moms never really do get enough. They don't get the trumpets and confetti they deserve for all that they do. If only they could hear the proper voices of celebration. So in the end, Mom, I hope you just understand that I love you so very, very much.



Happy Mother's Day <3