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Memories are snapshots of time.

The memories I have of my mother show laughter, tears, hugs and lots of love. Her love was expressed in daily actions and sacrifices made so her family was well cared for.

She showed her love for our family as she cooked meals, washed our clothes and cleaned the house. She gave us chores and taught us how to help her with the housework.

She came to my school plays and performances and encouraged me to do my best in things that were out of my comfort zone. She encouraged me as I painted and drew as only a mother can.

My mother knew I didn't generally like traditional breakfast food, and she allowed me to eat leftover fried chicken, Chef Boy-ar-dee Ravioli, chocolate cake, or an oatmeal cookie with the creamy middle. She knew I made up for it by eating a healthful lunch and dinner. She chose her battles wisely.

She would pack my lunch each morning, filling it with a ham and cheese sandwich, some Del Monte fruit in a can, or some canned pudding.

Before placing the items in the bag, she would write my name on it. It was always comforting to see her handwriting on my lunch bag by the time I made it to lunchtime at school.

She volunteered at my school by tutoring, working in the library or by being the grade mother of my class one year. She kept in contact with my teachers to make sure I succeeded.

My mother sewed dresses for herself, my older sister and me. It was always exciting to see the material laid out on the kitchen table and to discover this was going to become a new dress. I would stand by the sewing machine watching it whirl and stitch as she pieced the outfit together. One year, she made matching outfits for her, my sister and me.

 I always was proud to wear the new dresses she made so lovingly for me.

She even tried to teach me how to sew the summer I was 14. I hated the experience at the time. I was thankful, though, when 10 years later, I had a daughter of my own and the desire to give sewing a try again. My mother had lovingly laid the groundwork.

Birthdays were special because of the small things she did. For my ninth birthday, every time I passed by my Barbie case (which was laid out in the living room), I found a new handmade Barbie outfit she had made. I must have found six or seven new outfits that day for my Barbie to wear.

Another birthday, I got to pick out a special birthday cake topper from what was then Food World. I picked out a ballerina princess I had been eying for months as we went to the grocery store.

My 17th birthday involved surprising me after work with my family all gathered and a special friend invited. I never suspected a thing.

She attempted to teach me how to cook in my teenage years, though the lessons really didn't take hold until I was married. I made several calls home that first year for over-the-phone instructions of how to cook so my new husband and I could eat more than macaroni and cheese and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches

She took my older sister, brother and me to church every Sunday. With a disapproving glance and a pinch with her fingernails, she tried to instill in me the importance of sitting still during the worship service. I am glad she did. She gave me loving discipline and a respectful regard for others and for God.

She taught me how to write my name and encouraged my reading skills by holding up flash cards of sight words.

She took me to the library branch that opened near my house when I was 6 and let me bring home many books. She set the example by being a great reader herself.

She would listen to me ramble about the troubles a 9-year-old faces at school and on the playground.

As I started dating, she heard my thoughts as she sat on the side of my bed late at night. She gave me sound, wise advice obtained from years of wisdom. I cannot say enough how much those talks meant to me in that time of my life.

And when I was grown, she became the grandmother —"Memaw" — to my kids.

I could see full cycle how the things she did and didn't do for me made me who I am today. I could see how those times she said no were in my best interest and how when she pushed me to do something I didn't want to, she was helping me grow and move beyond her nest and into the person God wanted me to be.

The first part of Proverbs 31:28 says, "Her children rise up and call her blessed."

May my mother feel as blessed and loved as she made me feel all these years this Mother's Day. I love you, Mama.

Linda Vestal is a wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend living in Gibsonville. Contact her with comments or story ideas at lindavestal@triad.rr.com.