Josh and Laura.

A long sentence for Mom

Bethel University digital journalists remember what’s important about moms on Mother’s Day, like Morocco and swords.

Scott Winter
May 11 · 13 min read

I know you, Laura, you’re the kind of mom who sticks around when a riot starts just to see what happens.

Anyway, thanks, mom, for the sketchy hostels where we were probably going to get murdered (but didn’t because you are always right), for the endless road trip through Morocco in a car stuffed to the brim with suitcases and the putrid smell of surfboard wax, for pushing your way into areas where you shouldn’t be allowed and for asking too many questions like the true journalist you are, for saying yes to anything I’m interested in and letting me get a tattoo machine or make rockets to shoot at my siblings, for not getting mad that we built a flamethrower in the house, for buying me and Ben actual swords at 9 years old and believing we wouldn’t use them to fight, and for taking me to the hospital at 2 a.m. for stitches because you let me do all those other crazy things.

But also thanks for all the nights you let me sleep in your bed because I was terrified, for hugging me for hours when I didn’t want to move but you knew we had to, for making me care packages months in advance because you know you can’t send them, for bugging me endlessly to see my art because you are my biggest fan, for taking me climbing and to clarinet lessons, for driving a couple hours a day, even when you work nonstop, so I can get a good education, for staying up until 2 a.m. to talk because of time zones. ~Josh Eller

Thanks for the Nertz games and Nilla wafers

I know you, Mama Chase, you’re the kind of mom who throws away chocolate cake even if there are leftovers because you don’t want the temptation to finish it after we leave.

Callie and Mama.

Anyway, thanks, mom, for the hash browns and two eggs with gluten-free pancakes from Original Pancake House, for the Chinese checkers games on the living room floor, for the competitive Nertz games in front of the fire place with Nilla wafers and tea, for dressing up my wardrobe with business clothes as I prepare for a big-girl job, for the phone calls multiple times a day simply because we want to say “Hi,” for singing geese-on-the-pond to the tune of pants-on-the-ground, for planning the best Chase family vacations up at Chase on the Lake, for taking the first sip of my Coca-Cola because the opening of the pop can sounded appealing, for reading the Esther story out of the She Reads Truth devotional, for FaceTiming me at college and putting Bailey on the phone even though she can’t see the screen, and for being proud of me as I study communications, just like you. ~Callie Chase

Thanks for the cheese hash browns

I know you, Cindy, you’re the kind of mom who sits watching Sesame Street when her son is home sick from elementary school, but really wanted to clean the house for the company coming over for Easter.

Cindy and Sam.

Anyways, thanks, mom, for the trips to the family farm in Waverly, and all the smells of manure and rat droppings that a rural land had to offer, for eating the full order of stuffed hash browns at the Waverly Cafe, even if you only ordered a half-order, for being strong when Grandma passed away and leading by example for Rachel and I, for the game-nights at Moore Springs and always coming up with great “whos” in Who, What, Where, for getting your hair wet off the boat in Lake Minnetonka in the summers, for your other-worldly cheesy hash browns that made by taste buds just for joy at the scent of it, for teaching me to lead with kindness, for reminding me that it’s only a game when dad beats me in Wizard, for walking with me and Daisy when all we had to cover ourselves from rain was our hair, for loving me unconditionally, and never giving up on me. ~Sam Johnson

Thanks for knowing all of the High School Musical lyrics

I know you, Deanna, you’re the kind of mom who takes a flower walk around the yard every afternoon after work, just to make sure everyone’s alive, while making homemade cocoa on the stove for your houseful of children, to maintain the sanity of all of us.

Grace and Deanna.

Anyway, thanks, mom, for listening to my endless rants about boys who don’t deserve a second of your time, for laughing at my shrill Beach Boys renditions, for knowing all of the High School Musical lyrics even though you can’t stand Gabriella, for calling me to laugh about the neighborhood kids and their crazy antics, for crying with me over Anne of Green Gables every time and loving Gilbert Blythe unconditionally, for encouraging and fostering my reading habits as well as my bread addiction, for telling me when I look bad in clothes that are a little too tight for comfort, for dancing and singing like no one is watching even when we have a household full of friends around, for teaching me how to see the beauty in me without the affirmation of others, for your hair curling game nights that start and end in ab-creating laughter, for reading the Bible to us every morning before school even when we rolled our eyes, for showing me what it is to love another human more than yourself through their best and worst times, for sitting with me and my friends with a cup of tea and a dozen perfectly executed anecdotes, for candles and hugs, for sharing your struggles with me and showing me how no one is perfect, and for supporting all of your kids through their mistakes and their accomplishments. ~Grace Holst

Thanks for letting me jump off the coffee table

I know you, Susan, you’re the kind of mom who spends half a year planning cupcake flavors and how many boxes of Raisinets to buy for her son’s graduation party but still takes an hour every day after work to watch The Office with him and make Spongebob jokes.

Susan and Zach.

Anyway, thanks, mom, for the ribeye and crab leg dinner with warm apple pie on my birthday, for carrying me up Victor Creek when my legs got tired, for reading me Mercer Mayer books before bed, for letting me watch every cartoon except Rugrats and laughing with me when Spongebob yells “Hooray, Gary, we’re finally huge!,” for never pestering me about homework and helping me write a weekly plan when I got overwhelmed by term papers and calculus tests, for allowing me to jump off the coffee table after dad said no and holding me in the passenger’s seat while we drove four hours to Anchorage, for never posting about me on Facebook or bragging to your coworkers, for watching me play Sebastian and Lord Farquaad and Willy Wonka four to eight times a year and cheering just as loud every time, for making peanut butter honey popcorn every time my friends came over to play board games, for encouraging me to be an actor and an engineer and a writer and whatever else I dreamed of being, for rubbing my back when I couldn’t fall asleep and closing the bedroom door when I slept until noon and you were making a green smoothie, for keeping the scoby in the utility room because I gagged at the scent, for answering the phone when I called crying from my futon in Madison and telling me you wouldn’t hang up until I did, for listening when I told you about talking with that guy at the rest stop in Iowa or the man with the teardrop tattoo or what scared me about dating and being a journalist and growing up, for laughing at my jokes and cracking funnier ones yourself, for never taking life too seriously and giving me free reign to experience it, for showing me who Christ is by loving people, and for loving me the same way. ~Zach Walker

Thanks for always

I know you, Lorrie, you’re the kind of mom who tries to get her son to have a haircut that doesn’t make him look homeless, shaggy, or raggedy, but rather having it short on the sides and the back so you can show people and say he looks handsome.

Lorrie and Joe.

Anyway, thanks, mom, for driving me to school every day my freshman year of high school because I was having a hard time, for always listening to my jokes and laughing even when they weren’t funny, for when you set the table and you don’t put ice in my glass because you know that it hurts my teeth, for buying honey smoked turkey , for making my bed for me, for teaching me about God, for loving me unconditionally, for taking pictures of me on vacation whenever we are eating, for paying for me to learn how to windsurf when I was 10 knowing I wouldn’t be able to do it, for asking me questions about every superhero movie we watch and letting me explain the ending to you and you forgetting it and letting me tell you again the next year when the next movie comes out, for watching shows on Netflix and telling me about them even though I’ve already seen them. ~Joe Hiti

Thanks for playing our song game

I know you, Aimee, you’re the kind of mom who blasts their daughter’s favorite songs for her when she doesn’t want to get out of the car and go to class even when it embarrasses your other kids.

Chloe and Aimee.

Anyways, thanks, mom for coming to countless concerts with me, for singing silly songs on the radio, for being my shoulder to cry on even when it meant my tears ruined your shirt, for telling me stories about your high school experiences when I thought mine were lame, for letting me look through your old yearbooks and see all of the stories about that one Italian guy you and your friends had written, for that April Fools day when you used rolled up little balls of Laffy Taffy instead of making us eat peas, for the adventures of rock climbing in Duluth, for all of the times you comforted me and said I could just live at home if I ended up ruining my future with the one bad test grade, for letting us try spaghetti tacos, for letting me go out with friends on late nights, for listening to my stories at 1 a.m. even though I woke you up to do so, for playing our Song Game, for dancing at random times, for playing the Guardians of the Galaxy soundtrack while cleaning our house, for driving me to dance classes, for teasing me about every boy I’ve liked, for late night fast food runs, for that ride up to our cabin when we made up the Book of Bombquisha, for singing to me when I woke up with nightmares, for watching bloopers of Supernatural with me when I was sad, for telling me you wore black everyday of 10th grade, so my outfit was fine, for working crazy hours to support your family, and for somehow always knowing what I need. ~Chloe Peter

Thanks for understanding why I came home late

I know you, Rachel, you’re the kind of mom who made me smile when I didn’t pass my permit test.

Katie and Rachel.

The one who would yell at me for lying about sneaking out to see my boyfriend, who was laughing the most when I dressed up Ian in dance clothes, who made me know that I could swim faster than the girl next to me in a meet. You made me stubborn and made me speak my mind, but you and I don’t agree on everything and that is OK. I smiled on the day I had five wisdom teeth taken out because you bought me a mango ice cream. You were understanding when I came home at 1 a.m. after hanging out with not sober friends. When you make Indian food and bring it to school so I can remember who I am. When you push me to get good grades even though I am always slacking, driving me everywhere because I still can’t drive, for agreeing to keep our crazy dog even though no one else agrees, for putting up with my teenage years because I know I could never put up with it. ~Katie Young

Thanks for watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine and eating Nutella

I know you, Linda, you’re the kind of mom who gets really excited to get dishes or other kitchenware for Christmas, and you’re the kind of mom who puts down a huge stack of papers and bills that desperately needs to be sorted to help me defeat the Stormtroopers in the LEGO Star Wars Wii game.

Linda and Jhenna.

Anyway, thanks Mom, for embarrassing me at the prom photo shoots, for loving basil so much you buy three plants of it, for buying a huge cherry tomato plant that died by the end of summer, for giving me your loud laugh and big front teeth, for obsessing over your hair and wondering if you should get it cut though it never looks any different to literally anyone ever, for sitting down with Dad and breaking the news gently that I needed surgery on my thyroid because you knew how best I should take it, for gushing to a Bethel professor how much I love to write, for making sure that I can understand what’s going on at discussions or loud places by signing to me as discreetly as possible, for staying home with me in my early years before I got my cochlear implants so I could learn English, for watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine and binge-eating Nutella with me, for drawing a bubble bath when I’ve had a stressful week at college, for loving my father as much as the day you married him, for talking to me calmly whenever I get super dramatic, for excessively pinning home decoration ideas on your Pinterest boards, for loving coffee so much you bought three milk frothers at IKEA, for driving me to school all the way up to my senior year after that awful bus in sixth grade, for getting angry at my high school teachers who wouldn’t give me the accommodations I needed, for holding my hand when I cried about missing my old friends and wondering why I wasn’t making friends at college, and for being willing to swim an ocean for your daughters.~Jhenna Becker

Thanks for making me go to swim practice

I know you, Jody, you’re the kind of mom who wants to stay home and watch Grease on a Friday night while munching on a piece of cake with a side of vanilla ice cream and get up late Saturday morning.

Emma, Jody and family.

Anyway, thanks, mom, for the visits to the Minnesota Zoo when me and my brothers and sisters were more monkey than the actual monkeys, for making me wear that one outfit that I hated because it was too colorful, for taking me on driving routes when we listened to Western romances on cassette tape, for giving me ibuprofen when I laid on the floor crying with growing pains, for pouring water on my head to get me out of bed in the morning, for giving me six brothers and sisters and then adopting five more, for making me go to the first day of swim practice in eighth grade when I could barely swim the freestyle, for holding me while I cried in one of the scariest moments of our lives, for being the bearer of bad news because I needed you the most, for answering the five billion questions I had when I was 11, for letting me believe you were the smartest person in the world, for supporting every one of my hobbies including the cheap jeweled necklaces and crocheted scarves, for dancing the Electric Slide at every wedding reception because you love to dance, and for singing me to sleep when I was afraid of the dark. ~Emma Eidsvoog

Thanks for road trips with ’80s hits

I know you, Laura, you’re the kind of mom who complains about cleaning up after your four daughters but in reality you love to vacuum, sweep and wash dishes while singing along to the Carpenters on vinyl because it keeps your life in order.

Emma and Laura.

Anyway, thanks, Mom, for the 9-minute miles around Rice Lake Elementary, for the late-night Broadway shows at The Orpheum and fancy Italian dinners, for the time you snuck me into a Chicago speakeasy with Hannah’s passport to sing karaoke, for the Scooby Snack graham crackers you send to my dorm, for slathering sunscreen on my Scandinavian skin, for telling the waitress when my food is wrong, for not buying me that Easy Bake Oven for Christmas, for riding the Timberland Twister on my 10th birthday despite feeling so dizzy you almost threw up, for shrieking in the movie theatre during the scary parts of Halloween, for telling me how many Tylenols it’s OK to take, for blasting ’80s hits in your Subaru with the windows down, for forcing me to do math and reading workbooks every summer morning to earn my American Girl doll, for hiding my Halloween candy every year so I wouldn’t get any cavities, for turning the other way when Hannah and I ran wild in HOM Furniture, for exploring antique shops in downtown Stillwater and laughing at creepy dolls from the 1900s, for driving to Portland with me just to see James Bay, for your passion and drive to heal survivors of human trafficking, for walking into any given room and leaving with five new friends, and for giving me an example of a hardworking, professional and independent woman. ~Emma Harville

ROYAL REPORT

Hyperlocal news about Bethel (Minn.) University by journalism students. To contact editors, email royalreport.bethel@gmail.com or Tweet to @Royal_Report.

Scott Winter

Written by

Bethel University journalism professor. Mediocre tennis player. Nacho architect. @ProfScottWinter

ROYAL REPORT

Hyperlocal news about Bethel (Minn.) University by journalism students. To contact editors, email royalreport.bethel@gmail.com or Tweet to @Royal_Report.

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