When I was a little girl I remember loving my mom with every inch of my heart, with every stroke of my paint brush, with every sock that I folded. In little ways, I tried to communicate to her that she was one of a kind, priceless, and special to me.
As I grew I didn’t understand the price my mother paid to have me. Her stomach bore the marks of childbirth. Sometimes when she looked in the mirror I saw a frown flash across her face as she examined the extra shapeliness childbearing had added to her figure. The extra pounds that Jane Fonda work-out records failed to help her remove.
In my little spritely way, I tried to make her smile by saying, “mom you look pretty in that dress.” But more often than not she couldn’t receive the compliment from her little girl. When I heard my father complain that she needed to exercise more or stop eating chocolate I felt a frustrated sadness for this woman I loved. This woman that worked tirelessly to cook, clean, and provide what we needed. I wished that she could see her beauty and her worth as I did. But somehow the image she saw in the mirror couldn’t reveal what could only be seen by the eyes of love.
Every little girl wishes her mother knew that she was beautiful. No matter the shape or size, no matter the hair color or complexion. No matter the clothes or the trendiness. A mother is a life giver and in that role, she shines with beauty.
As my mother struggled with trying to raise four kids and balance a part-time job I often saw her cast aside her dreams to make ours possible. I felt sad that she rarely attended to her hobbies, because of the demands four children constantly presented her.
One of my fondest memories of her was when she got a walking partner. Several times a week they would disappear down the street speed walking. She would come home energized and happy. After shedding pounds she also started to pursue a love for photography. Unfortunately, the pressures of life started to pick up again and she stopped walking with her friend, but for that short time, she seemed happy within herself.
Every little girl wants her mother to have dreams. She wants her mother to know that she is not only beautiful but smart and capable. She wants her to keep reaching for the stars. She is proud of her not only for the meals she cooks and the clothes she folds but also for blazing a path of self- discovery.
I am now a mother. I have found myself standing in front of the mirror struggling with the image I behold. I have frowned at the areas of my face and body that don’t look the way I want them to. I have spied my own little girls looking in the mirror at this woman they call mom. I have heard their little voices speak up, “Mom you are beautiful just the way you are…”
I now understand how hard it is to believe the voice of a little girl.
In the role of a mother, it is hard to make all the ends meet. I have often felt insufficient in this role. I want to be a successful household and schedule manager, but I feel torn between work and home. But the struggle is worth the rewards of having a family.
I find it hard to let myself dream knowing the cost it will have on my family if I step out. But I also believe dreams are worth fighting for, my mom taught me that. She might not have been able to chase after her own dreams, but she helped me chase after mine, for that gift I will be forever grateful.
Last, of all, I think little girls want their mothers to know that they value goodness higher than money or status. When a mother is good a little girl can hope that she will also someday grow up to be good. On television, the internet, and in music blaring from radios and iPods the image of woman is often portrayed as brazen, soulish, and crude, but no little girl wants a mother like that.
Perhaps it is time to listen to the little girls of the world pointing us to a deeper beauty than is painted on billboards. Maybe such little girls have a better grasp on what it really means to be called “woman.” Are we ready to hear what our little girls want their mothers to know?
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