Mothers Are Truly Special!

Mothers Are Truly Special!

Darrel Hammon

When I think of mothers, I quickly think of two people: my own mother and the mother of my two beautiful daughters. They both played a very special place in my life.

My own mother had eight children. I was number three. Having eight children kept her more than busy, especially knowing the personalities of all my siblings, me included. I just cannot imagine cooking for eight children. Of course, we all didn’t come together; and we certainly didn’t leave together. But in ten years, from 1953 to 1963, six children were born to my mother and father. Now, this is the first time I have realized the number of children my mother had in one decade. Wow, Mom, you were incredible!

As I was growing up, my mother was the one who took us to church, made sure our beds were made, and clothes picked up off the floor, arrived to meetings always fifteen minutes early, made sure we did our scout stuff, taught us how to bottle everything in our garden, and helped us understand that work was important.

I can remember my mother coming into my room at night because she heard me moan and groan. My legs hurt. She told me that they hurt because I was growing and sometimes legs just hurt as they grew. She sat at the foot of my bed and rubbed my legs until I fell back asleep. While she stayed up late to take care of children, she was always the first one awake and made sure we had breakfast before we left for school.

Overall, my mother was a good woman who tried to teach us what we needed to do. Thanks, Mom!

Now, Joanne, the mother of my two children, Anna Rose and Hailey, is spectacular! She has been the best mother anyone could ever wish for. As I watch my daughters today and see their good works, their great personalities, their love for the gospel, their propensity to do well in school and in everything they do, I cannot help but think back to the way Joanne cared for them. Everything the girls are, I attribute to their beautiful, kind mother whom I call Joanne, my wife of 32 years, my best friend. I am humbled to be called her husband.

Joanne spent a great deal of time with Anna Rose and Hailey, reading to them, helping them with their letters and numbers, making dresses for them, creating fabulous lunches for them and their friends during their high school years in Montana, driving them back and forth to their piano and music lessons, chauffeuring the girls to Billings for their braces check, substituting and volunteering in their schools, being their assistant tennis coach, serving as their Young Women’s leader throughout their entire young women years, listening to them during the good times and the not so good times, and just being there when they needed her.

When one thinks about the perfect mother, one doesn’t have to look elsewhere other than to Joanne Hammon, the epitome of the perfect mother. I think some of the best compliments come from the girls’ recent mother’s day cards.

From Anna Rose, “They say there’s nothing in life a girl can’t accomplish with the help of an amazing mom. And they’re right Thanks for always helping me shine, Mom.”

From Hailey, “Thank you for always making every moment special, for celebrating the little things, and helping me understand just how amazing life can be. Thank you for being you. Thank you for helping me become me.”

Surely, there is nothing more certain about how their mother prepared them than seeing how my daughters live and how they behave. Perhaps, Anna Rose said it best, “After looking at my mom and seeing what she looks like, I know my future is secure.”

Ah, yes, if my daughters become like their mother, they will have accomplished much.

Happy Mother’s Day, Joanne. You are the best mother in the world.

Nothing is sacred at our house

Nothing is sacred at our house

My mother hides chocolate chip cookies
in the freezer, her hidden cache
for snowy weekends

and long trips to the city.
She thinks no knows they are there.
She locks the freezer

and hides the long, thin key.
Little does she know
that we know

the key’s secret hiding place
beneath the charcoal lighter fluid can.
Our small hands borrow cookies,

some frozen and some still warm,
from the carefully stashed plastic bags
and Tupperware containers.

The cookies disappear
much like the potato chips
and marshmallows did last month.

Sometimes she asks us why
we do not eat much
breakfast or lunch or dinner.

We look at each other,
knowing our cookies thaw
beneath our beds.

Nothing is Sacred at Our House

I dedicate this poem to my mother who has since passed beyond but who made some of the best chocolate chip cookies ever.......

Nothing is sacred at our house

My mother hides chocolate chip cookies
in the freezer, her hidden cache
for snowy weekends

and long trips to the city.
She thinks no knows they are there.
She locks the freezer

and hides the long, thin key.
Little does she know
that we know

the key’s secret hiding place
beneath the charcoal lighter fluid can.
Our small hands borrow cookies,

some frozen and some still warm,
from the carefully stashed plastic bags
and Tupperware containers.

The cookies disappear
much like the potato chips
and marshmallows did last month.

Sometimes she asks us why
we do not eat much
breakfast or lunch or dinner.

We look at each other,
knowing our cookies thaw
beneath our beds.

My Mother Taught Me

For all of the mothers out there:

My Mother Taught Me

When I was young and learning things,
I kneeled in prayer beside my bed.
My mother stood in the shadows,
listening while some words I said:

Oh, Dear Father who art in Heaven
My mother tells me thou art true.
But I don't know just what to think
for all of this is still too new.

But before I turn old like my friends
wilt thou just lean beyond thy cloudless veil
and whisper from thy throne on high
and cause my spirit to softly swell?

If thou doest this I promise all—
I will be thy obedient son
just as my Mother thinks of me
And thy will shall all be done.

Then I climbed up into my bed,
waited for my mother's love.
Then on bended knee she bowed
and poured out her heart to thee above.

I listened to the words she spoke.
They settled on her lips like dew.
I wondered where she learned to speak
such words of love—all true.

To her humble words, I carefully listened:
“Oh, My Father, this night I plea
for my children....please keep them safe...”
finally showed me how to talk to Thee.