We all keep memories of our mothers tucked in between the folds of our heart. Mine are there in her special place too. I remember mama waiting for me after school with a slice of homemade bread with sugar on it. She wore flowered housedresses with an apron that was covered in flour or wet from the old black sink. Mother had the most beautiful, almost toothless smile just for me. Come on now, doesn’t every child have the prettiest mom on the planet?

     Mother was wise way beyond her 5th grade education. I thought she knew everything because she always had the answers to my endless questions. She told me about the twinkling stars and that heaven was up there too. I had no doubt that I didn’t have to be afraid of the thunder because that was just God’s mother moving her furniture around. At night time when the big booms were extra loud and the sky lit up, I’d run to mother for safety. Mama always remind me it was only the angels bowling and the lightening was when they got a strike.
I was sure mama had a degree in nursing because she could kiss my boo-boo’s away making me feel all better. I’d tearfully survived the dreaded iodine, but then I‘d proudly show off the red iodine stain like a badge. Sort of like our kid’s today showing off their fancy band-aids. Father John’s medicine cured everything and if that didn’t work, caster oil did the trick. Mama’s favorite jar of feel good was Vaseline. She used it for everything from black and blues to chapped lips and as her night cream. No kidding Mother looked younger than any of her friends. Gee, I better go find for my jar of Vaseline, huh?

     My mother was special because she spoke with a sweet French accent. Even when she was mad, she had a song in her voice. Mama covered up my mistakes when I’d done something I shouldn’t have. Mom always said “God gives us tomorrow so we can fix yesterdays mistakes.” Mama sometime told little white lies to protect me from Father’s French temper. Having endless energy, I often got into trouble because I didn’t take time to think first. Most of all, I remember mama calling me her baby, but with mother’s accent I was her “Be-Be.” Mama always found reasons to brag to the neighbors what a special little girl she had. She didn’t see my flaws or at the very least, she chose to overlook them. We never had much, but she made me feel as if I had it all.

     On rainy days we’d color or cut out paper-dolls or I’d watch her turn a bowl of flour into wonderful miracles we could eat. She’d bake a gingerbread man out of the extra cookie dough and all the doughnut holes were mine alone. She had a tiny bread pan just my size and a wee little pie-plate just for me.

     Sometimes even now when I get blue, I remember mama’s love. For just a moment I feel like I’m still her special little Be-Be. We mustn’t forget that mothers are all about love. So you see, there’s no need for fancy gifts on Mothers Day because most mothers really only want their children’s love. 

© 2005 Kitty M. Moore All Rights Reserved. Previously published in Gloucester Mathew Gazette Journal