MY Mom.

I was inspired by this blog post to reflect a little on my mom and how awesome she is. I'm still discovering her level of spectacularity.

My mom has never coddled me; no babytalk, just heart-to-hearts in grammatically sound English; she didn't see the sense in teaching a toddler how to talk using "goo" and "ga". I started with my "Why??" stage a little early, but she never discouraged my questioning. I was never spoonfed; if I wanted an answer, she told me how to find it (even if that was "Go ask your father."). When I had exhausted the read-aloud patience of everyone in the house with my repetitive requests to hear The Ten Little Teddy Bears, she told me to read it myself. And so I did. When I found a multiplication table worksheet left out by one of my older in-school sisters, she didn't tell me it was too hard for a five-year-old: she told me how multiplication worked. And so I learned to multiply. When we went on family vacations to museums and national parks across the country, I walked slowly through exhibits, reading every sign, for I knew a quiz would come at the end of the day. When I was shocked to learn that my American History book was wrong and that Abraham Lincoln didn't breathe his last in the Ford Theatre, she empathized as she reflected on her shock resulting from learning the truth about Appomattox Court House as well as how the Liberty Bell really got its crack (we don't talk about it much; it's a sore subject).

My mom has shown great poise. She never tried to convince me to be more girly, not when my Christmas wishlist was filled with Packer paraphernalia and TinkerToys, not when I chose to play baseball with the boys rather than Barbies with the girls; not even when I told her I had a boy's brain in a girl's body. She stuck to her guns when it came to lacy Sabbath socks and those nice pink & purple plaid pants that I hated, though. She never tried to convince me to change my career choices: when I wanted to be an astronaut, she helped me create a binder of Solar System info. When I wanted to be a cowboy, she made sure at least one of my three cowboy shirts was clean every day so I could button it up and fasten my red handkerchief carefully around my neck.

My mother has great vision (Not eyesight; there's a hereditary reason every member of our family wears glasses). I've always been amazed by her grand schemes and great plans – especially travel arrangements. Her new and super-cool ideas made her my favorite Kindergarten Sabbath School teacher. We never just read the stories; we acted them out, drew pictures of them, rearranged the felts, and sang songs. She always played the piano for the songs, too. My very favorite memories are of five singing sisters clustered around mom and the piano on Friday nights.

My mom is super strong. There's never been a jar of Prego or canned green beans that she couldn't open. Never a refrigerator or couch she couldn't move to clean under and behind. I remember watching with awe as she singlehandedly lifted the front of our pop-up camper in order to hoist it onto our van hitch.

My mom is a very, very hard worker. When she cleans - with "maidservants" in tow - there's not a cobweb or dust mite that doesn't fear her approach. Any dirt that could possibly be reached by a pressure washer has reason to tremble, too. With Mom's work and cleaning ethic, none of the Stotz girls will ever answer, "Not I!" to a request for helpers; The Little Red Hen and its life lessons have been engrained in our vocabulary since our lives in utero. A job isn't done until it's well-done; "good enough" isn't good enough.
"Always leave a place cleaner than when you came..."

My mom is in love with Jesus. When I'd wake up at dawn, she'd have already been awake for hours; I knew I could find her sitting on the couch with her big Bible and her Sabbath School lesson. I've always loved leafing through her Bible and seeing what she's penciled carefully into the large margins in her beautiful handwriting. Mom always finds some new and pressing question in her lesson readings, too; questions that most folks don't ask because it makes them feel uncomfortable. She's not one to stick to tradition just because "it's always been that way"; that's pretty rebellious where I come from.
My mom is in love with my dad, too. Northern midwestern folk aren't real touchy-feely, but I've never wondered whether or not they like one another. Seven-year-old Jess would be appalled to think that 23-year-old Jess is thankful she could turn away in mock-disgust when Mom & Dad shared a kiss in the kitchen. 32 years and counting... :)


When I grow up, I'm going to be like my mom. I'm going to challenge others to think for themselves and to question the world around them. I'm going to dream big dreams and scheme grand ideas and put the energy into making them realities. I'm not going to say "Not I!" to helpfulness, be it cleaning or pianoing or painting or mowing lawns. I'm not going to do things simply because that's how they've always been done. I'm not going to shove people into tiny cubbies of age or gender or social stigmas, to tell them "it's not possible"; I'm going to encourage them to do what they dream to do. The world needs more astronauts and cowboys and Packer fans and girls who aren't afraid to hang with the boys. The world needs more Little Red Hens. The world needs more people who live God-imbued lives, dynamic lives; not lives of religion, but lives of discipleship.

The world needs more people like my mom.