Happy Birthday

Ok so my birthday was two days ago. I am a bit behind. It was a fabulous birthday weekend..... so fabulous... that it took two days to write about it. my parents came up and visited for the afternoon. Steve took me on a lovely date. What more could a girl ask for? Well, my birthday wouldn't be complete without mentioning this lady......

(Photo by Jarvie Digital)

My Momma!

The story goes something like this. My mother and father had three lovely children but wanted one more to round out the family. After two miscarriages and an attack of appendicitis...... I was born on April 8th. As my mother puts it I was a miracle that she desperately needed. But what she may not have realized was that she is the miracle that I desperately need.

My mother has been my inspiration. Inspiration is a big fancy flowery word that is often misused. To be an inspiration you can't just be important or different.

To inspire one must fill someone else with the urge to be or to do something. I think that that 'something' may even be something essential the the inspired's life! Well, my mother did exactly that. She inspired me to be a dancer. She inspired me to love the smell of dirt, trees, moss, and cold air. She inspired me to laugh. She inspired me to be kind. She inspired me to love the gospel. she inspired me to be stronger. She inspired me to be crafty and creative. She inspired me to love Christ. She inspired me to teach. She inspired me to get married in the temple. She inspired me to make good choices. She inspired me to love nature. She inspired me to be adventurous. She inspired me to do as much as I possibly can. She inspired me to go to BYU. She inspired me to date good men. She inspired me to be who I am.

I love my mother. I wish I had gotten all of her good looks (my sister took all of them first). I wish I could be kinder, sweeter, and a better cook, just like she is.

My favorite memory with my mother is driving in our full size purple van (purple exterior and interior). I am in the passenger seat, feet on the dash. She is in the driver seat. I am in a leotard and tights, probably with a bowl of dinner in my hands. She is driving me to dance lessons, down fifth street. I don't know why this is my favorite memory. Probably because it was our constant time alone. Our own time during the day to talk. Just her and I. We probably the majority of the time talked about my woes about boys. That seemed to consumed my life during those teenage years. Regardless, the conversation was always Mom and me.

So Happy Birthday Mom. This day is for you too!