Everyone has that one person in their life that they look up to. Sometimes we’re afraid to admit who that one person is. I feel that over the years it has become more apparent to me who that person is in my life. This person has been there for me since day one, well actually even before that. I owe her my life, because after all she is the one who gave me this life to live. That person who I look up to every day is my mom.

My mom is one of the people I have shared the most memories with. There was a few years of my life where I thought it was “lame” to think of the time I spent with her as memories being made, but as I have grown up I realize that those were memories being made, and ones I wouldn’t want to forget. When we first moved to Kentucky, 13 years ago, my mom and I spent every day together. I was still too young to be in school, and my mom stayed at home. Our favorite thing to do was to go to the library. I had this tote that I used as a library bag. We would go to the library and fill it up with various books. The books we rented consisted of children books that I’d read to my mom, books that she would read to me, and cook books. Every morning we would look through the cook books and find something we wanted to cook that afternoon for lunch. I miss those days, back when we got to spend all day, just the two of us.

Once I got into school, we didn’t get to spend as much time together. Three years later, my brother was born. As you may know, when you are so used to being the youngest, as another sibling comes along and takes your place, you start to feel left out. The attention was taken off me and it turned all to my new baby brother. I understood though, but this made my mom and I drift a little.

As I was growing older, so was my brother. He eventually got to the age where he’d rather be with my dad then my mom. This was good for me, I got my mom back. We started to do more together again. She’d help me with my homework after school and I’d help her clean every Thursday and cook dinner each night. But life goes on, and each year we grew older and older. I got to a point where I just wanted to be independent and do everything on my own. When I was in 5th grade, we moved back to Wisconsin. This really pushed me and my mom apart. I didn’t want to move, and I blamed it on her. But I soon realized, it wasn’t my mom’s fault, my dad is the one that’s job got transferred. This didn’t change anything. I couldn’t get myself to say sorry to her, sorry for being so mean and blaming it all on her.

One of my mom’s many hobbies is scrapbooking. I admire her hard work and the creativeness that she puts in to it. I felt that maybe if I tried this with her, it would be my way of saying sorry, without coming out and saying it. I asked her if I could start my own scrapbook and if she would help me with it. What did she say? She’d love to. Of course she would. It’s something we could do together. Like back when we would read books together, now that I’m older and too old to have her read books to me, this is our new common interest. All thanks to my mom, for helping me with it. We take pictures of the memories we’ve made and put them into a scrapbook. This way, we won’t forget these memories. We’ll have pictures to look back at a relive them.

My mom’s day consists of taking care of all of us kids. Whatever we want, we go to her and she does it. That has to be a rough life. I do like doing things for others, but I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like doing that constantly, and always thinking of others. No time for myself. That’s my mom’s life though, and she’s happy with it.