Mama.

I tried to subtly get my mother to find her favorite picture of us together, specifically a picture in which I am still a baby, or at least pretty dang cute. By this time of the month she knows, of course, that I'm going to blog about her at some point and I just blogged about my Dad so it wasn't a surprise or anything. Now some some mothers might immediately e-mail the perfect picture, or say that they don't have a favorite, but my mother's response? "They're aren't very many, because I took all the pictures!" (She also said she didn't have a favorite.)

So the photo above is all I've got. For now. I don't know where this is, or why it seems she's about to throw me from a cliff, and I'm sorry it's blurry, but I don't have any other cute pictures of little Katie and her mama. I could wait until she finds the perfect photo, but I'm growing impatient because I just want to be thankful for my mother and I couldn't possibly consider doing it anywhere but on this blog! Ha. 

Yesterday, I waxed poetic about my father and his intelligence and creativity. I could, if I wanted, talk the same way about my mother, but somehow it isn't quite lovely enough to describe her.

My mama is the kindest person you will ever know. She will exasperate you with kindness. It's not because she doesn't know how to be mean--I'm sure she knows how, she had 4 siblings, 3 of which were brothers. She just chooses not to. She chooses, rather, to use her kindness and calm temperament to persuade you to see things her way, or to at least take a chill pill. (That's not to say she's never snapped at me or shown frustration. And when she did, I almost definitely deserved every bit of it.) 

In the same way my father exudes intelligence, my mother exudes wisdom. She brims over with vital words and enchanting thoughts, and you can just tell she wants you to feel and understand everything the same way she does. I learned recently on a women's retreat that every woman has within her a sensuous one--the key being SENSE-uous, not sensual or sexual. (Don't worry, this is not going to get awkward.) The sense-uous part of a woman takes joy in her surroundings, she takes joy in herself, she is enamored with God's creation and the environments she experiences. Whatever she loves, she wants everyone to love it with her. 

This was my mama. This is my mama. Whatever she loves, she wants everyone to love it with her. This is why she is always reading at least 4 books at once and will jump at the chance to tell you about them. (Yes, my love for books definitely came from both parents. Papa taught me to tell stories, but Mama taught me to experience stories.) I could see pretty clearly, when I was little, the joy my mother took in herself. They were small things--she knew just how she liked her coffee (which is very important!), she took care in choosing the perfect (but minimal) jewelry every day, she liked to take long baths and long walks and short naps on the couch (with a book propped open nearby which she fell asleep whilst reading.) She took joy in just being herself. This is a lesson more mothers should teach their daughters. 

But most of all, she loved beautiful things. They weren't always complex, extravagant, elaborate things... but they were beautiful. Usually they were found in nature, or a painting. To prove my point I could show you every picture on her Facebook profile, especially the ones where she is staring off at a distance mountain or forest or something at a museum. But to be more concise, here are two pictures of her picking flowers. (The first photo is one I took in 2011, the second was taken by my dad back in May.)

While driving back to WA with me after my junior year, we stopped
by the side of the road to pick a whole bunch of poppies.

Somewhere in Seattle.

Does the first photo make more sense now? Does it make sense that my mother is holding me high up on a cliff? Does it look like she's throwing me into harm's way, or embracing me in a way that lets me see the world without falling into its danger? She wanted me to see something, to experience something, to revel in and engage with the beauty and mystery she saw. She wanted me to love what she loved, to find my own version of beauty in the thing she had already deemed beautiful.

I should probably also mention that she gave birth to me. AND she dutifully reads my blog. I'm thankful for those things too. :)

End of Day 16.