The Mama to my kids has a birthday today. They help her with the math and remind her that she will be 35 years old. Around these parts she is known less for her talented writing and photography and more for her ability to be Mama. She knows where the band-aids are. She knows that we need more because Harper layered the last ten of them on to a bug bite. She knows that Calvin will want his favorite shirt for the party and he relaxes when she says, " it's already in the wash". She knows that her tough little farm girl has secret anxieties and fears, and she knows just how to set her at ease. Mama stuff. The details of love that only Mama really knows. When they ask, "what's in the carrot soup?", she shoots me the look that lets me know, I needn't tell them onions, because Ezra won't eat it if he knows.
Her mind holds the tiny bits of every day life that weave the very fabric of our beings. In a world so large and often daunting we have her. And she has us. She gives with all her might but is never afraid to lean back. To collapse and fail and weep and let in the sadness. We see all of her and through that act of bravery we show our selves in return.
We are always learning what it means to be family and in the very middle of all of that is where she'll be. She'll be walking gracefully through the effort and ease of being human.
Happy Birthday, Amanda. With love from us all.
