A Mother of a Blog Post
One day a year just isn't enough.
I don’t have children yet, so Mother’s Day is still all about celebrating my own special Mom, Carolyn.
Many of my friends have kids, and I love hearing their hilarious stories about what the little scamps get up to in an effort to please Mom on ‘her’ day: Sloppy art projects; sloppier breakfasts in bed; backyard plays and impromptu evening jam sessions on drum kits fashioned from pots and pans.
Of course, I have special memories of doing all of those things myself – even scars on my knuckles from the disastrous time I attempted to make Mom my ‘specialty’ (cheese melted on Portuguese Sweet Bread) in the toaster oven. Mother’s Day reminds me of the wild lilacs that grew along the remote dirt road I grew up on. Every year, my brother and I would sneak out before Mom came downstairs, snipping as many of those fragrant lavender blooms as we could carry. Though this became our annual ritual, Mom never failed to gasp in delight, as though we’d brought her the moon instead of an armful of wildflowers.
She deserved so much more, this woman who was always in the front row at my choir concerts or cheering like a maniac at my soccer games. She cried with me the first time I had my heart broken. She cried with me the day I got engaged.
Now that I’m grown, my relationship with Mom has shifted. It’s become less about trying to please her and more about finding a balance, finding a friend. I want her to be proud of me, and I want her to be proud of herself for raising kids who became loving, conscientious, and ambitious adults.
I still have cooking disasters. All the time, actually. And the first thing I do when I realize I’ve used salt instead of sugar or have added too much milk to the damned mashed potatoes is call Mom. Though I moved 3000 miles away from home, she always picks up the phone, no matter what time it is. She always knows just what to do.
My mother was on my left arm as I walked down the aisle at my wedding, and I imagine she’ll be there in the hospital when I finally do have a child. (Does a hospital waiting room have a front row? If so, I know exactly where she’ll be.) How do you thank someone for that? How do you properly celebrate the unconditional love and support that a person has shown you for your entire life?
I don’t know the answer. But I do know that Mother’s Day has taken on a whole new significance for me, particularly now that I’m the same age my mother was when I was born.
I know that she deserves more than just a day of celebration. All Moms do. After all, you Moms are shaping the lives and perspectives of little people who will one day grow up, as I did, and rely on their foundational values to make good decisions. No pressure.
Thank you, Moms, for all you do, and thank you, Mom, for all you do for me.
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