I Believe In My Mother
I believe in my mother. She’s always been there for me no matter what.
When I was very little, she would hold me and rock me to sleep. Later, she would play with me. As I am a teenager, she talks with me and takes me shopping. She gives me advice on friends and boys and growing up.
My mother has always been strong. When my two grandpas died just a few months apart, and the rest of our family members were emotional wrecks, she just held onto everybody and said it would be alright.
She is so easy to laugh with. Last night she came into my room and sat on the floor while we talked and laughed. We laughed at the littlest things. We laughed until our sides ached and we couldn’t laugh any longer.
Every morning she gets up extra early to teach seminary for the freshmen at our church. She wakes me up with a smile and kisses my forehead. I tell her she’s crazy for being so happy that early in the morning. She laughs and walks away as I tell her I love her too. These are our special moments, though not the ones I cherish most.
The moments I cherish most are the ones when we lie down and talk, or when we sing so ridiculously off key that our throats hurt, and then we laugh until our stomachs hurt too.
My mother teaches me that doing the right is always the best. She tells me that telling the truth is always the best because you never have to go back on it.
We have our bad days of course. She tells me that there are times when she doesn’t know me. That I’m changing too much too quickly. Then we have our disagreements when I become defiant and rude. Then I feel bad, and we both end up crying. This is when my mother realizes I’m growing up and I’m not her little girl anymore.
Through all of our challenges, she still loves me and teaches me.
No one is perfect, but my belief is that my mother comes very close to being so.
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