My Momma

Momma. A small word. Only five letters. But it affects me so deeply that I almost ache with the weight of it. This word invokes memories so strong that they can almost be touched, smelled, heard. Memories of a childhood filled with reminders of my Momma.
My Momma had hands I will never forget. They were warm when I was cold. I'd come in from playing in the snow and her hands would warm me as she peeled my mittens off. Her hands were cool and soothing when I was sick. My fevered brow relished her hands smoothing hair from it. Those cool hands would trace patterns on my weary face. Momma would smooth my hair back into a ponytail and pull it tightly with skilled fingers. My Hair was pale and thin and unmanageable but my Momma's hands kept it tamed. Momma's hands still soothe me as an adult. When I am with her it is as if time has slipped a little and I am a child again, comforted by her hands. When she touches me, I remember all that she did for me with those Magic Momma Hands. I hope that I, too, have Magic Momma Hands to soothe and comfort, to strengthen and support. Strong enough to hold on- wise enough to know when to let go.
My Momma's laughter was loud and contagious. As a child I would try anything to get her to laugh and still do! She has a smile quick to bloom and slow to fade. It reaches her eyes and lights them like a fire. They are brown and beautiful. I often wished I had brown eyes like my Momma's.
Hugging my Momma, I would get a hint of her unique smell. My Momma smelled so good! Her morning smell was the best: she would still be sleep-warm and this would enhance the smells of warm-buttered toast, sunshine, and cinnamon. She still smells of these things to me. My heart will always associate cinnamon sunshine with My Momma.
My Momma had a certain magic about her! She somehow managed to have a 'good Christmas'� for us no matter how poor we were. We would struggle and scrape by all year, but Christmas was always wonderful for us. She says we had a few Salvation Army Christmases here and there. She tells me my memory is foggy and some Christmases 'weren't all that great.'� I want tell her that HER memory is foggy and ALL Christmases were magical and good because of her. I am not certain it was the gifts. There was just something about the love we felt. The warmth that surrounded us. Even though I was just a child I felt her heart and her magic in each and every gift I unwrapped.
My Momma read books to me. She was so good at it! She made the characters come alive. She did a voice for each of them and the snugly time together made it all the more precious. My favorites were the ones of Winnie- the- Pooh because she would imitate Eeyore the donkey so well. To this very day Eeyore is my favorite! I read to my own children now and hope I bring as much joy to them as she did to me.
If I am only half the Momma she was my children will be luckier than they will ever know! I know things haven't always been picture perfect. Don't let what I am writing today fool you! There were ups and downs. There were fights. There were rough patches- and still are. But with each passing day, I feel those 'rough patches'� being glossed over. I remember the good things with ever more clarity. I have sweet memories that will help me be a good Momma to my babies. I have learned so much from My Momma- I bet she never knew how much I was learning from her when she wasn't 'looking.'� I have learned unconditional love, I have learned that heartache from your children is a privilege only handfuls of women enjoy. I have learned that your Momma CAN be your friend too. I have learned I love My Momma no matter what she does, who she decides to be, and despite the times I have been so mad at her I wanted to stop loving her.
My Momma is a teacher. She has taught me how to parent, and sometimes how not too. She has taught me so much about living without even knowing. She has made me realize I should live each and every moment as if it were my last. She has taught me that you love no matter what. I never knew until I was a Momma what self-sacrifice was involved. I have been taught by my Momma that being a Momma isn't all glory and sunshine. Children are a true test to your patience, joy, and sanity. But you love them like nothing else. My Momma taught me much about love. How to give it, how to receive it, how to grow it in less than ideal circumstances. My Momma wonders where I get the idea that I want to be a teacher...open your eyes My Momma! YOU! You are the reason. You are the best, most effective teacher there ever was.
My Momma is fun-loving, tender-hearted, and tough all in one. She will tell you exactly what she thinks in a heart beat and turn around and love you with all her might. She is strong. She has a strength and a sense for survival . I don't know where she gets her strength, but I know where I got mine! I hope to be half as strong, caring, loving, and special as My Momma! As a young girl, I often hoped and prayed 'Lord, PLEASE, don't let me turn out like my Momma!'� Looking back at all she has done, looking forward to all she will do- I think I have changed my mind! Now days? I hope and pray 'Lord, PLEASE, let me turn out like my Momma!'�
Momma... A small word?

Reviews

[John Braswell]

I recently lost my momma, and you are right, it is a small word but it takes a very large person to quallify as a momma
Good read---thanks

[Poeticpiers]

A loving tribute beautifully articulated encapsulating all of the memories which together add up to your mother. But the greatest tribute is Lord Please let me turn out like my Momma. WE do not apprecaite what we have until we lose it