My mom makes wonder woman look like a slacker. Like maybe shes tired and taking a lunch break instead of saving the world.
Im one of eight children, yes eight, who are all 2 years apart. My mother didnt sit down from approximately 1968-2007. No, shes still not sitting down if were going to be completely accurate. Not only did she have eight children, she worked full time, was heavily involved in church responsibilities, taught Joy School for the younger kids, and had dinner on the table every night at 6:00 p.m. I didnt taste pizza until the 3rd grade, at a Friday night sleepover at a friends house. My mother didnt order out; we didnt have the money, and my mother was a firm believer in well
rounded homemade meals. So she planned out meals, cut coupons, shopped sales, and made dollars stretch so we could have a healthy home cooked dinner on the table every night.
What really floors me though arent even the homemade dinners my mother made. Well, the dinners really do floor me, I have no earthly idea how she managed them year after year. What really kills me though, is the fact that she made bread for years and years and years. Still makes it to this day. One day a week shed make several loaves of bread, let them cool on the counter where they wafted the delicious scent only homemade bread can make, sealed them individually in recycled bread bags, and put them in the deep freezer for the week. We always ate homemade bread, and though I was embarrassed as a kid, wishing I were eating the white fluff my friends pulled out at the school lunch table, I cant begin to express my gratitude now.
Years later, as an adult raising my own two children, Im only beginning to understand a fraction of the sacrifices my mother made. Whenever things seem a little too hard, or I feel a little too put upon as a mother, I think of my mother at the kitchen counter once a week shaping loaves of homemade bread for her children.
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