A happy day

Today was a happy day.

I got to celebrate so many wonderful mothers in my life, but I want to take a few lines to talk about mine.

Mama and I are alike in a lot of ways.

I’ll admit there are days when I’ve gotten on what she likes to call her last nerve, but she’s been a warrior for me since before I came into the world.

Mama’s a vegetarian.

She hasn’t eaten meat since she was a little girl, except for the time she ate a hamburger while she was pregnant with me.

I don’t know about y’all, but I’d call that love.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, but my Mama is the reason I can walk.

She took me to physical therapy appointments.

She learned how to stretch me at home, despite my objections, because she knew it would help me down the road.

Mama was always there to lend a hand, to tell me to turn my hips or keep my heels down.

There are home movies with proof.

When I started school, she insisted cerebral palsy wouldn’t keep me out of a mainstream class.

It did not, because she didn’t take no for an answer.

I owe my education to her relentless belief I could, and would, succeed.

I guess anybody who raises boys can expect to dress a few wounds, but a mama who raises a boy with cerebral palsy ought to be named some sort of honorary medical professional.

Mine cared for me after surgeries, and nursed me back to health from sicknesses.

She bandaged endless cuts, and poured fizzy, furious peroxide into gashes from falls.

She held washrags to my head when I split it open one Christmas, and she got to watch them staple it shut.

Once, on Mother’s Day, I fell out of a truck and busted my elbow on asphalt.

She approved a hasty, homemade bandage crafted from paper towels and duct tape. Then she drove me to the emergency room and watched them stitch me up.

Mama helped instill discipline and respect into me from a young age.

She’s a strong, independent woman who didn’t take back talk from her stubborn son.

She’s loves her family, and she laughs a lot.

Sometimes, she laughs so much she cries until she can’t see.

She loves Jesus, glitter, sewing, crafts and peanut butter and syrup.

She loves her students, and they love her.

I love her, too.

I wouldn’t trade her for the world, and God blessed me when he made her my mama.

Words seem inadequate when I think about all of the things my mama has done for me so I guess I’ll end with just a few more.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mama.

Thank you for everything.

I love you.

This post is a response to Sue’s prompt, which is “happy.”