A long sentence for mom
Bethel University digital journalists thank their moms ahead of Mother’s Day for the big and little things, such as notes of encouragement, fashion advice and cheese curds at the Dakota County Fair.
I know you, Stephanie, you’re the kind of mom who will stop whatever you’re doing to help your family even when you have a million things on your to do.
Anyway, thanks, mom, for allowing me to tag along to Sam’s Club when I was younger just so I could add unnecessary items to the grocery cart and grab the extra cheesy pizza and pop before we walked out of the store, for placing small notes with words of encouragement in my school lunch every single day throughout my time at Centerville Elementary, for reminding me every morning to be a leader and not a follower as I walked out the door or closed the car door, for cheering me on at weekend basketball tournaments and baseball and soccer games, for driving me everywhere, from friends houses to orthodontist and chiropractic appointments, for being by my side when I received the news that I broke my back during soccer tryouts at Centennial High School that ended my season, for helping me as I turned our kitchen into a science lab for my PSEO online chemistry class through the University of Northwestern St. Paul, for never discouraging me from chasing my crazy dreams, for always pushing me to always do my best, but never being mad when I miss the mark, for sharing your love of peanut butter, for going to Minnesota Wild games with me, for an endless number of Starbucks, Caribou and Dunkin stops and gifts cards for no reason, for always checking up on me through texts and calls while I studied at Palm Beach Atlantic University in West Palm Beach, Florida, for a year, for always making me text you when I arrive somewhere safely late at night even though sometimes I forget, for buying Celsius and Vitamin Water at Costco, for always wanting to take pictures, which taught me the importance of documenting and cherishing memories, for always making sure I have everything I need — and for being the best mom I could ever ask for. — Aaron Heckmann
I know you, Lisa, you’re the type of mamma who cares so deeply for others it often hurts yourself, who doesn’t hesitate to share her opinion because you believe “the truth will set you free,” and who would watch Anne of Green Gables movies with me for days on end if you didn’t have to write your physical therapy notes.
Anyway, thanks, mamma, for letting me wear a tutu every day to elementary school and pink cowboy boots every Sunday to church, for cultivating my imagination by reading me the Laura Ingalls Wilder series, for singing me to sleep with lullabies you changed the words to, for letting me keep the stray cat that wandered up to our house–even after it gave birth to kittens, for sitting up with me at night when I had to use my Nebulizer to breathe, for buying that Jamie Grace CD for me and then dancing with me on top of our kitchen counter to it, for making wearing an eye patch for my lazy eye fun, for letting me try on your wedding dress with Lauren and for baking chocolate chip cookies with me, even though I always dumped way too many chocolate chips in the mixing bowl; thanks for being picky about my friends, for teaching me to put others first, for empowering me as a woman in advanced classes, for hugging me instead of yelling at me when I totaled your car, for being my go-to fashion advisee, for rubbing my feet after that soccer game I hyperextended my knee in, for being there for me when my friends passed away, for showing me what it means to stand up for your family, for matching my temper in arguments because my stubbornness is from you, for pushing me to always work my hardest and for being the perfect example in teaching me that true joy and love are not circumstantial. — Mikiah Krieg
I know you, Marie, you’re the kind of disaster movie enthusiast who knows they all have the same terrible plotlines and insists on watching them anyway.
Anyway, Mom, thank you for getting up early on Sunday mornings before church to play Minecraft with the rest of the family, for bringing my sister and me to the Dakota County fair to stand in long lines for greasy cheese curds and a turn on the plastic carbikes that could never go in a straight line, for paying for those $5 pony rides and letting the people running it pressure me into joining even when I was four years past the age limit, for agreeing to play Skyrim with me and not quitting when I spent most of the run in my own death cutscene; thank you for passing on the bits of your brain that make to-do lists such a helpful tool, for staying up long past when even the dogs have given up on getting us to go to bed and watching Ancient Aliens while we laugh about the nature of reality, for being patient when my squirrel brain forgets that I’m being spoken to, for making me drive to my dentist appointment on my own even though I was scared of getting lost, for getting my sister and I Legos and Lincoln Logs even though culture said that girls should have dolls, and for accepting that I’m never going to be the same kind of human as everyone else. — Sarah Holst
