Remembering
One thing that I remember clearly about my childhood were my mother's arms and hands. I remember that they were always there, lean and lightly toned with the exercise that comes from being a mother. My mother used those arms and hands to do so many good things, not just for us her children, but also for other people in her life. My mother has always been an example of service and kindness, something I wish I had more of.
I remember as a child trying to take my mother on in arm wrestling. She would always win, and when we got rough with her she would always defeat us with her hands. "This comes from studying karate when I was a teen." she would say. We always knew that Mom could overpower us, even though she never hurt us, just kept us from hurting her accidentally.
She used her hands when we got sick, making up beds on the couch for us, getting us crackers and 7up, and placing her cool palm against our hot foreheads.
Her hands painted, crafted, cared, loved, comforted, fixed, created. And they still do. As my mom has gotten older her arms and hands have lost the perfect grace of youth, but they have not lost their touch at all.
I remember as a child trying to take my mother on in arm wrestling. She would always win, and when we got rough with her she would always defeat us with her hands. "This comes from studying karate when I was a teen." she would say. We always knew that Mom could overpower us, even though she never hurt us, just kept us from hurting her accidentally.
She used her hands when we got sick, making up beds on the couch for us, getting us crackers and 7up, and placing her cool palm against our hot foreheads.
Her hands painted, crafted, cared, loved, comforted, fixed, created. And they still do. As my mom has gotten older her arms and hands have lost the perfect grace of youth, but they have not lost their touch at all.