Momma may know how to pack a bowl but she sings the sweetest bedtime stories.

Momma may be a secret mixologist but she always bakes the best double chocolate peanut butter chunk cookies. She may be a wanderer at times, but when we need her, she is always there for us.

Free Spirit: someone or something who lives by their own wishes and is unconstrained by society. (n.)

See, our Momma is a free spirit but she has the warmest, safest lap. When we cuddle into her embrace, we smell her dreams as strong and sweet as our favorite bubblegum. She lets us run around and swim naked and experience the way the world feels to our young tender bodies.

Our Momma let’s us be free and that’s one of the reasons we love her as much as we do—we wouldn’t want her to be any other way.

And, in the summer, Momma says it counts as a bath if we go swimming and we don’t have to get washed up before bed. But don’t tell Grammy, it’s our secret!

Our Momma isn’t like other mom’s, it’s pretty obvious. Sometimes she will turn around, her hair blowing in the sunshine, her eyes smiling and catch me looking at her like I just saw the greatest fairytale come to life.

I hope to grow up to be just like her but she always tells me that I am going to grow up to be my own person, that I may be like her in some ways but that I am going to be my own amazing self and she can’t wait to see who that is.

I like it when she says things like that, it makes me feel like she can see the person I’m becoming. I know that she can see things others don’t. I know she can sometimes tell what’s going to happen before it actually does.

I love that my Momma is magic.

I love that she dances around the house a lot. I think sometimes people don’t just grow-up, but they grow-down too. I hope I can grow-down like Momma. I hope my roots get deeper and I become as bold as she is. I hope my eyes will twinkle like hers when I am older.

She always talks to us as if we are adults. I love that she doesn’t tell me I’m “too young to understand”, because she knows I’m not. Momma tells me about the things in her life, about the world and about the Universe. Whenever I ask her if I can ask her something she always says, “Anything and always.”

I love that Momma always tells me the truth. She knows that being a parent isn’t easy and neither is telling the truth, but she does it anyway. I hope I do that too when I get older.

I think it’s funny when Momma tells us we have “funk in our junk” and we need to get in the bath. I like that we are gross and we roll around tickling each other. Our bellies often hurt from laughing so hard—smelling each other’s feet and armpits, telling each other that we stink but kissing each other while we do it.

I like that Momma shows us it’s ok to be real.

I like that she says there are no “bad” words, only adult words. Even though she is smart, she uses “adult” words—a lot! Especially when she’s driving, she likes to use the one that begins with an F. But I can’t use that one yet, she tells me. I can use some adult words though and I like that I can tell my sister her ass stinks and that she left her crap on my bed. I know that I can’t use those words at school (or at Grammy’s!) and we are all hoping my younger sister does too, but I like that Momma doesn’t sweat the small stuff.

Sometimes, after she has put me and my sister to bed and I can hear her music start to play, I sneak out from my room to spy on her. I love seeing Momma doing yoga on the deck in the moonlight. In the summer she practices only in her underwear and a tank top and the moon makes her skin look golden and silver. I love seeing the breeze in her hair and listen to her laugh. Sometimes she even starts dancing on her mat if her favorite song comes on.

And then I start to dance too because it’s impossible to stand still once Momma starts to sway her hips.

Momma always spins around as if she can sense me watching her and at first she’s upset that I’m out of my bed but then she smiles one of her hearty smiles and she motions for me to join her. And so we dance the whole song singing and laughing in the moonlight.

Afterwards, she always lets me get on her back piggyback style and she carries me back into bed pretending to be a choo choo train. I love how Momma kisses my cheeks and runs her hand over my forehead and hair and when I ask her to make up a bedtime story for me, she does even though I should have been asleep already. I think she is amazing because she spins stories of fairies, pirates, princesses, and little brown mice that has learned how to fly.

I love that Momma always tells stories about how the princess rescued the prince, because she believes that even the strongest man needs rescuing, if sometimes only from himself.

I love it when she blows a kiss to me each night before she closes the door and tells me she loves me more than all the ice cream in all the world.

Yea, that’s definitely my Momma.

And I wouldn’t want her any other way.

 

Author: Kate Rose

Editor: Katarina Tavčar

Photo: Author’s own