​Like most mothers, my mother taught me a lot of things. She, however, did not sit me down to advise or tell me how things should be done. Her valuable lessons were given to me not by words but shown by examples.

My mother was a teacher of basic education for a good 23 years. While she did not draw or paint or play any musical instrument, I  knew her as an artist, of her own kind. Her lesson plans and teaching materials were her works of art. She would have those large notebooks covered in cartolinas in different colors, each one for the different subjects she taught. Her front covers would have letter cuttings, magazine or actual photos, and paper craft borders. Sometimes, she would just write out the words largely in her beautiful cursive, one I consider the most beautiful, even to this day. How I loved looking at those handmade front covers! She would then cover her lesson plans with plastic cover, for protection from wear and tear. Having seen how she decorated each of her materials taught me the fun and beauty of arts and crafts. 

Inside, on every page of those notebooks, she would put margins in red ink, about 1 inch wide, guided by a ruler. She would also cut portions of the pages’ edges, creating seemingly embossed layers, where she would write out a particular topic or subject. Later on, I wrote those margins, too, in my notebooks. But I did not have the patience to cut the edges of the pages. More than the designs and the way she designed, what I found fascinating with my mother’s lesson plans were her own notes. Each lesson plan was like a book because of her consistent handwriting. The strokes, size, and weight of each word from the first page to the last were the same. I could never do it. My handwriting changes with my mood and the urgency with which I need to write. But it was not so with my mother. Her handwriting was the same in all her moods, even if she needed to write quickly. 

Same with her lesson plans, while she did not draw, her teaching materials were done with colors and creativity. She would be bent on her desk to cut out photos and letters, glue papers and scraps, and put together charts, bulletin boards, and so on. I never saw her do working drawings or sort of plan on how to do those materials, she would just simply work on them, her mind and hands knowing exactly how to execute her imagination. I never got to create without planning and thinking hard how I would do it. But having her handcrafted boards in my memory, I cut out and glued photos and created my own paper craft borders for school projects.

She had her own way of doing things. My mother washed the laundry two times. That is, first, she would use a strong detergent, and then a milder one. The first washing would be for cleaning, and the second one would be for making sure the laundry smells good, for a long time. She loved taking out sun-dried laundry. I would see her smell freshly dried clothes and or blankets and then smile. Then she would fold each piece neatly and put them in our cabinet in towers according to type–shirts, shorts, undergarments, blankets, pillowcases. How easy it was for her and for us to find what we needed in the cabinet. While I have not practiced washing my laundry twice, I have known and savored the lovely feeling of sun-dried laundry and have folded and kept my clothes in straight towers in my storage.

She filed our documents by each child. A bulky plastic envelope that had partitions bore me and my siblings’ names, again, in her lovely and consistent cursive. There were sections for government, school, and personal documents. She had a copy of my doctor’s custom birth certificate, of a special paper poster, that had my little footprints on it. As for me, I have kept my files in a box, a separate envelope for school, work, and miscellaneous files.

While she did things in such organized manner, my mother did not impose it on any of us her children to do the same, nor did she point to us or make us do things a certain way. I am not sure if meticulous is a right word for her, but I knew she simply did things consistently and put her best effort all the time. She also never forgot to enjoy the products of her work, be it through a contented sigh, a wide smile, or a bit of a giggly laugh. I also try to do so with mine. ❤