Chapter Text
"Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb; Mary had a little lamb, her fleece was white as snow."
She was a beautiful woman, your mother. In your eyes, there was no one who could compare.
She had such lovely long hair, sometimes halfway pinned back, sometimes high on her head in a mussed up bun as she went about the house cleaning, but always donning her favorite hair pin. Her eyes were always so kind and so loving when they fell on you, and her voice was able to carry the sweetest melody of your favorite lullabies.
There were days she would take you to the marketplace and let you pick out your favorite fruits and veggies that you could snack on almost anytime you wanted. There were even more days that you were brought to work with her, your wide eyes watching as she arranged the prettiest flowers into beautiful bouquets.
Every Saturday morning, she made waffles for breakfast, sometimes with blueberries, sometimes with chocolate chips. She would play fun games of pretend with you and even braid your hair just like you liked. There was always a box of crayons for you to color with as she vacuumed or did dishes. When it came time for laundry, you would always join in the folding process, even if you weren't very good at it.
Then, on days when the sun was out and the day was extra pretty, she would invite that one family just down the road who had a little boy your age -and one on the way- over for dinner. His name was Dean, and he liked to play tag with you and would pretend to be a monster while you ran around and threw small yard flowers at his feet. Sometimes, you would be the monster while he was the one doing the chasing. He always had good ideas for games, too, and you were more than happy to play along.
When the day ended and everyone had gone home, your mother would fill the tub for a bubble bath to wash away the dirt and grass stains from your skin before dressing you in your pajamas. As she tucked you in, you would pick which lullaby you wanted her to sing, and before she could finish, you would be fast asleep.
You were very young then, but you could remember the way your mother used to be as clearly as if her past self stood before you now. In your eyes, she was everything you could ever ask for in a parent, and in hers, you were her everything.