Mother's Day Contest--Little Giraffe Throw GiveawayJust before Mother's Day, 2007, we decided to give away a Little Giraffe throw to the customer who wrote the best tribute to a special mom in her life. The response to the contest was overwhelming, and we had a very difficult time deciding on a single winner. (In fact, we ended up sending gifts to everyone who entered.)
We finally chose, though, and we are delighted to present the winning entry below. (And we hear her mom loves the Little Giraffe throw!)Thanks to all who participated!
"My Full Circle" by Latisha H. from Ohio
When you're small,your mom is your world. You breathe in her scent and
that is comfort, home. She's there for you when you drop the popcorn,
when the dog crushes your favorite spring flower, and even when the kids
on the bus make fun of your hair.
Somewhere along the way, the teen
years happen, and most of us begin to think our mom is way too
protective. She starts to embarrass us when she tells our friends about
a doll we carried around, or how crooked our teeth once were, and that
one time when we had a cold and our eyes were matted closed, we
thought they had "gotten turned around."
We don't want her to hold our
hands anymore because that's "not cool." So, being the mom she is,
she'll stop holding your hand and let you go with your friends instead
of keeping the traditional movie night at home. She'll drop you off down
the street from wherever you're going so no one will see her (and you
can pretend you magically appeared there). You swear to yourself and
your diary that you'll never be like her.
Then, a time comes when you start to think she may not be as bad
as you thought she was. That you were no longer mad that she told you
that you couldn't go to that concert or take her car, with 10 girls
crammed in it, to the mall.
You might even (just maybe) think she was
right about that boy from Chicago you dated in college and that he
really wasn't for you.
She knows before you do that you've met "the one" and she knows he loves you like because of the way his eyes sparkle when he looks at you. You take for granted the times she helps you when you fight with him and just listens.
She cries as hard as you do when you miscarry your first child. She cries even harder as she cuts the
cord for your firstborn son and the time that she holds her first granddaughter.
You look across that hospital room and see her smile and remember that she looked at you that way too, long ago, when she rocked you and read you books.
It is only then that you truly, truly, know what
your mom means to you.
You understand why she did the things she did and are glad she did them that way--the way you'll do for your children.
Then, one hot, August day brings your world almost to an end. You hear the word cancer and aren't quite sure what it all means. It means lumpectomy,
mastectomy, hysterectomy, chemotherapy, no hair and your mom crying and
wanting just to die.
You know what you have to do. You never once (ever)
think she won't make it. You go to the oncologist, you go sit hours and
days in hospital rooms and try to figure out why it all happened.
Surgery after surgery, you shave your mom's head and tell her she looks
beautiful. Try on wigs with her and pick out the craziest red hairstyle you can find to make her smile. You try to repay her for every scraped
knee and tear she was there for in the 30 years you've been alive. You
tell her she will be fine and that she has to fight for herself because we want
You see a Little Giraffe blanky that was given to your own
daughter, now torn and falling apart, the second one she's had since
birth. The notecard originally attached to it talks about mommy's smell
being on the blanket and as you touch her blanket, you weep.
what being a mom is now, and vow that you want to be like your mom. You swear to yourself that you'll be like her--exactly.
Every day I have
her is my mother's day.