Most mothers take good care of her children. Some mothers like to feed their children cookies and cakes and mashed potatoes and marshmallow sweet potatoes and all sorts of wonderful food to say “I love you.” My mom told me that she was a good cook before she had children, but she got tired of one kid or another turning up their nose and proclaiming, “I hate that,” before taking a bite, so she got sick of trying new recipes. Mom wasn’t a bad cook, she just lacked creativity. Besides, that’s not how she showed her love.
Mom showed her love by brushing my hair, and making me dresses and knitting me mittens. When I was a not so little girl, she bought me a big furry coat and some expensive boots.
I was nineteen: determined to be a new wife, ready to move to the Upper Peninsula where summer is three months of rough sledding. No matter who tried to talk me into waiting, I knew what I wanted. Continue reading