My mom

I share things with people, and then instead of getting them off my chest, i think about them even more.
Like this fact, that has been need and tear to me, that my mom never told me that I'm beautiful. it sounds awkward in romanian I guess. People don't shower each other with compliments back home. we started doing this a little bit in my group of bible study girls, in Cluj. people just didn't comment much on appearance. or not that i remember of. I had a hard time taking a compliment in college. I would always give an explanation or negate the compliment. i had to catch myself and just say thank you when someone said they liked my ... (fill in the blanks).
Back to my mom, she never said that i'm beautiful. I secretly hoped and a believed I am. just because beanpole that matter never told me that i'm ugly.
But why did it never bother me?
And it hit me this weekend. Because my mom liked me. I remember her looking at me smiling, touching my hair with her beautiful hand, and i think she was proud of me... for something. I was independent, I worked hard, sometimes she would encourage me to take a break from studying, and take a day off from school. She was real. she never followed a script, and for some reason I could tell she was real, and I loved her for that. I now she still feels like she should have done more, she should have studied more books on how to raise teenagers, but I think she did an amazing job, because she loved God with all her heart, and she loved me, and she was real. My mom is still amazing. and goofy and random... :)