i want to remember my mom

my mom could build anything, she tore everything down, (walls, floors, doors, you name it…)but she could put things up, (same thing). she worked as a waitress, a construction laborer, an irs agent, a naval sailor, army reservist, she could do anything literally. she raised me to be the same way. when we lived in newburyport, i cam home from school and she had ripped a wall down that had created a room in between my sister and my bedroom. she wanted it to be an open play room between my sister’s and my bedrooms. she wanted to be able to see us playing from the kitchen. i remember walking in and seeing her with a toolbelt on and shorts and a tank top. staring at her work! she was so proud of herself. she was almost done with fixing the trim. she had painted a fairy land on the walls, she loved to draw and paint and thought her princesses should live in a fairy world. complete with horses, (rocking horses) a canopy over the loveseat, our throne and a yellow brick road on the floor. she also had the doll house my papa had built for me in the corner. it was a replica of the house we lived in and it was huge. she painted the room in the doll house to match the room she was finishing. i think that is where she got her inspiration. my mom could do anything. and it was making sure that her daughters had every dream come true i think that she was the best at. I was thinking about that today because i want to do something to my bedroom, but i have no idea where to start. i wish i had asked her how she came up with her ideas. she did strawberries in the kitchen too… but that is another story…

her eyes were speckled with blue. you could see the greenish brown in them. even when she cried they had a sparkle to them. her walk matched her eyes. they sparkled and bounced. with every movement. her hair would follow their lead and she always had something spunky to say. i can still smell her sometimes, the coffee and the lavender.. it is a weird mix but the soothing effects it has on me is one of a kind. i remember being about 6 or 7 and waking up in the morning to her dancing around in the bathroom putting her make up on and brushing her hair. singing to herself. the smell of her coffee in the coffee pot, a dim hallway looking from my room to hers. her perfume wafting down the hallway to mine. in her peach bathroom. with her funny striped towels. her jeans and her high heel shoes. when she sees me she smiles. says hello baby. want to come eat with momma? she made me breakfast every morning. it was never just cereal. it was always something baked. she loved baking. her country crock butter, she would sit with me and do my hair for the day, while singing to me. i think i knew every abba song by the time i was 7. i miss her muffins, her cakes, her baking. i miss her smell. and the way it sat on her…