I first heard about The Mother Letter Project from Stephanie at Adventures in Babywearing by-way-of Shannon at Rocks in My Dryer. I was amazed from the first moment… and I continue to be amazed and inspired and enlightened by the letters that have been contributed to this most perfect gift from a man to his wife. My letter is about moments… moments that all sewn together design the most beautiful life-quilt imaginable. And each Mother has the gift to create a warm and wonderful life-quilt for each child.

This is my “Dear Mother” Letter…

Dear Mother,

Mothers create the magic of moments, and it is the very simplest of moments that begin the journey of a priceless and unique life-quilt, adding one precious block at a time.

Memories are the gifts… the beautiful blocks that bind the life-quilt together. And each magical memory of my own Mom is one in which not one dime, or even one penny, was exchanged.

I remember standing on a kitchen chair next to our stove, using a wooden spoon to stir large chunks of chocolate and sugar and butter over a double boiler. My Mom guided my little hand with her warm hand as she taught me to make homemade fudge. I still see the gray and white padded kitchen chair… the old-fashioned kind with the silver tacks. I see the swirl of colors as the ingredients blend. I see my Mom’s hand, her little woven potholder, her smile.

I remember standing next to my Mom on a dock in San Diego, waiting for my Dad to return from an 8-month at-sea Navy duty. I see her beautiful white dress with the light blue polka-dots. The dress is pure 1950’s! I thought she looked like a movie star. She held my hand so tightly. She held my younger brother’s hand so tightly. She kept telling my older brother to stay away from the ropes. Then she saw my Dad, and it is a picture I will never forget. She let go of our hands and leaped into his arms… only to then panic for the moment of, “The kids!” Well, we weren’t going anywhere ‘cuz our Dad was home. I still see my Mom and Dad holding hands in our car all the way home.

I remember my Mom teaching me to do cartwheels. We lived in New Hampshire by then, and all the girls seemed to know how to do them. I was the “new” girl. I still hear my Mom, step-by-step… “Raise your hands, left foot out, lean and go.” My Mom was very athletically gifted. She never even reached 5’, but she could smash a baseball, swim like a fish, and even stand on her head. Yes, I learned my cartwheel lesson well, and now I do them for my grandchildren!

I remember watching my Mom sew. One Christmas season in particular, her sewing machine buzzed well into the night… each night. She was making beautiful pillow cases for gifts. I loved the sound of her sewing machine late into the night. One night I got out of bed and she let me watch her sew. Her hands smoothed the fabric as the needle zipped along. She asked if I wanted to help. Of course I did! One long straight line of her hands guiding mine led to a love of sewing in me. All through high school and college I made all of my own clothing… even bathing suits.

I remember the night all of our polliwogs turned into tiny little frogs and escaped all over our living room. Oh, yes. My brothers and me spent endless hours with our friends in a little swamp near our home. One afternoon, we came home with lots and lots of cute little polliwogs. My Mom allowed us to keep them, with the rule that once all of their legs began to pop through, we’d release them back to the swamp. It didn’t happen quite like that. On that memorable night, we were watching television, and a little “thing” landed on my Mom’s shoulder. Then another. And another. My Mom laughed with such joy as we all began to scoop up the tiny frogs with our hands and place them back into our little aquarium (which, by that time, my Mom had secured with aluminum foil and lots of little holes). I will never forget our lesson in the life-cycle of frogs because of the miracle of that special night.

I remember my first prom… my Mom smoothing my gown with her hands before my Dad began the endless photographs. I remember her smile as I stood before her in my black cap and gown at my college commencement. I remember her trying to choke back her tears as I moved into my first apartment… with her blessing AND every used pot and pan and piece of cutlery that she could pack into every last box.

I remember the saddest and most difficult block of my life-quilt… when my Dad died very suddenly. My Mom was only 50 years old. But I remember her stoically going on. Moving forward. Teaching me and guiding me again with her great strength.

I remember my Mom holding my babies. Wrapping them in her love. I now see my Mom holding my grandchildren… a gift of love that is almost impossible to describe.

Dearest Mother… what I know with all certainty is that your children will remember the moments, the simple moments. These are the miracles. These are the gifts. These are the precious blocks of time, sewn together with stitches of love and joy and laughter and magic. There is enough fabric and enough batting and enough thread for each child who is ever born. This is the life-quilt. This is what will keep your children warm… long, long after they are grown. Sometimes your children will feel that they don’t need the warmth of your magical quilt… but they will. They always will.

And do you want to know the real magic? The true magic? This is it… I now take the life-quilt that my Mom created for me and wrap her in it. Each block. Each stitch. Each design. Each tack. Each layer. I give it back. I gently cover her aging hands and back and legs… and the magic begins anew. The warmth. The love. The memories.

All for less than one penny.

I hope that all the letters you are reading keep you warm and joyful and secure in the love your wonderful, wonderful husband is weaving for you. His gift transcends even time. He is your thimble of strength.

Always believe in the magic of the simple moments…

With much love,
Sharon