A close friend
responded to a clip I’d posted about Mother’s Day, just an innocent little
feel-good video representing the many facets and faces of motherhood. She hates Mother’s Day because of how all
advertisements and talks showcase super-human moms; it reminds her of all she’s
lacking, leaving her feeling worthless.
I wrote back to her telling her that’s just it. It wasn’t a documentary on one perfect mom in
her picture-perfect house. It was a
million women doing regular life. Some
laughing, some stressed. That’s life.
I suppose I like
Mother’s Day for unconventional reasons.
In all honesty, I love the idea of a love note from my husband with a
new bottle of not-over-the-top perfume, some (inexpensive, maybe plant-able)
flowers, a sensible breakfast, and some handmade crafts from school. And that’s what it usually looks like,
although it wasn’t always like this. I began
to explain to Todd years back why it even mattered that he and the kids make an
effort. As I’ve gotten older, it really
isn’t about me getting attention, gifts, or being pampered, anything like that;
I’m not a gifts or service kind of person, I’m good. But I think you older moms will agree with
this. I simply want Todd to head up an effort so my boys will know how to treat
their wives down the road and so that all of the kids have experiences making
someone else feel good. I want them to
experience the joy that comes from thinking outside of themselves. I want the
boys to understand what it feels like to help make a day special, to pay
attention to what girls like, to take note of the sacrifices their future wives
and mothers of their children will make.
I want them to recognize the unconditional love of a mother so they
won’t take their future wives for granted and so they’re reminded that they
will always, always be loved no matter what dumb things they do. The best Mother’s Days are when I see this
happening, when Todd has taken the initiative to help the kids make things
different and special. I could easily
slip out of the bed or picture; it has nothing to do with me needing any of
this. I can easily pick up some flowers
and perfume when I’m out, cards are too expensive, I have everything I
need. I know they love me and are glad
to have me in the family, but what really, really makes my day and me happy is to
see them turning their hearts toward someone else.
I also love
Mother’s Day because it makes me think of all the women in my life, lively
colors, spring flowers, everything girly.
If I ever get on the ball, I have in mind to buy or make (ok, buy;
unless it’s something from my kitchen…) gifts for all my girlfriends and the
ladies we love at church, school teachers, neighbor women, the grandma types,
just all the women who touch our lives and our hearts. I never do much more than our moms and
grandmas because then what? Who would I
start with next? And where would I draw
the line? Once every decade or so I’ll
send a little something to my sisters.
But it’s usually Thursday before I even think of that, and it would
never make it to them in time. So I sigh
and remind myself to think ahead next year.
I don’t even know what I’d do for the ladies in town, maybe flowers or
lotion, a love note? It sounds perfectly
simple, easy enough to pull off. But I
never really get around to it.
I just want them to
know how much they all make a difference to us, to our family. I guess I’m hoping they just know. And that they’ll allow me to bow out of showing
or telling them because they get it. I
feel like we have an understanding—we know we love each other. Let’s not stress each other out by making
fancy things for each other, by one-upping each other. Let’s just carry on with our womanly work and
acknowledge that we’re all still friends and we’re all doing awesome. But still, a part of me really does want to
do all those girly things. Mother’s Day
isn’t so much about parading our mothering skills (good grief); to me it’s
about appreciating the women in the world.
The feminine side of things.
Acknowledging one half of the whole.
In another month we’ll celebrate the other half. It’s all good, I love both.
So no, I don’t mind
the talks in church on Mother’s Day. I
love them, in fact. I get good ideas, I
love hearing the stories of how different moms do it, I come away motivated and
inspired. I used to cry quiet tears of
frustration and inadequacy throughout the day, tears of longing for what I
wasn’t and wouldn’t ever be. It’s so
hard being a young mom, you just don’t quite have the vision or
experience. Not to say I’m out of the
woods, that I don’t still have pangs of guilt or regret; it’s just that I don’t
wallow in it anymore. If it makes me
that upset then I should change and do something about it. But I figure I have my own way of being a
mom. It’s not perfect or magazine-worthy
or even blog-worthy. We just put one
foot in front of the other and make our way through the days and years. I am in awe—simply in awe—of some of the moms
out there. They blow me away. I have no idea how they live on such small
budgets, how they home-school and have 10 kids, how they can keep their houses
so clean, how they have that much energy for 5-course meals every night after
running to 13 practices and games every week.
I don’t know how they manage to make homemade Valentines with dipped
chocolates and cookies for every staff member’s birthday. So much of it is beyond me, I just have no
idea how they pull it all off. Without
drugs. But honestly, who cares what
anyone else is doing? They’re amazing,
but so are the rest of us. To me, a good
mom is a mom who is trying to be a good mom.
Whatever that looks like.
And so I guess to
me Mother’s Day is a day to look at the women around us and the women we
are. To celebrate our femininity and
role as nurturers, regardless of whether we have children or not. To feel good about the work we’re doing in
the world. To pump each other up. To take a deep breath, remind ourselves that
what we are doing in the world matters.
It doesn’t need to look the same.
It can’t. We all have different
jobs and tasks and gifts and strengths and abilities and energy levels and
circumstances and trials and heartaches.
Mother’s Day is to remind us that none of the dumb stuff matters. And yet the little stuff does; they aren’t
the same. All that matters is that we
loved, that we shared our mother hearts* with the world.
No comments:
Post a Comment