My Mother, Myself

Celebrating my mother today, Scottye Hall. A little bit June Cleaver, a little bit Betty Draper. I love this woman more than I can ever express in words and I’m so thankful that she still gives me her “mom-isms” that keep me on track.  From times when Paris is burning, her “Everything will be alright” answer, to if I’m hurt, cut, bleeding, it’s her classic “Just put some lotion on it.” When my mom sewed my clothes, they were always special pieces that I wore till threads. She respected my love of lace, tulle, floral prints, and twirly dresses. She always made me pretty. When my mom baked a cake, it was the most glorious and delicious creation. Everything was made from scratch and our kitchen always lingered in sugary, caramel aromas. I knew early on she had a direct line to Jesus because she could whip up a fantastic feast with a loaf and some fishes. My mom knew me well. She designed and created my bedroom with pink and white polka dots, a pink and white gingham skirted dressing table with an eyelet lace stool top made out of a pizza tin, and a whisky barrel that made my room smell deliciously oaky and sweet. She is a great designer and very creative. Somehow my mom taught me to be independent without stripping away the traditional values we live by. I love her so much. Things fly out of my mouth that sound just like her. When I bring this to her attention, my mom just rolls her eyes. I think she knows she did her job well. Our running joke that I ask her almost daily, “Am I good daughter?” She says, “YES, you are a WONDERFUL daughter! Am I a good mother?” I say, “YES, you are the BEST mommy, momma, mom, mother in the WORLD!” Then we both crack up laughing! She is my mother. She is me and I am her.