My mom raised eight kids on a farm — in a two-bedroom shack.
She would bake homemade pies, homemade biscuits and bread all covered in butter. She would make a dinner out of a pound of hamburger, or just about anything.
Our house was so small it didn’t have a complete bathroom. Sunday evenings meant getting out the old galvanized tub. She would set it in front of the old wood stove. Then carry water to it from the kitchen sink.
Mother would get on her knees to wash her kids.
She must have been praying that whole time as somehow we all survived those years.
She would go without just to make sure her kids had what we needed.
Actually, we all had her and that was more than enough.
Read more stories in the “Memories of Mom” series here.
