The phrase “Mother’s Day” has such a complicated meaning for
me. I don’t mean in a bad way, just that
it makes me think about what that means to different people – my own mom,
myself, girl friends, guy friends.
I think about my own mama and how she struggled to keep us
fed and clothed and how we really should have noticed that more and been more
kind to each other for her sake. She
went back to school for a Master’s degree while we were all still in school and
graduated with flying colors while keeping up all the mom-stuff, too. It’s a marvel; I’m sure I’ll never understand
how she did it.
With a kid of my own, an approaching “Mother’s Day” means
that my husband will pick out some treat for me on my son’s behalf and I’ll
likely get a homemade card, which is a real treasure. I’ll also get to pick where we go for
lunch. (That just means that I’m picking
something my kid loves so that there won’t be any extra restaurant drama for me
to manage.) And, at some point during
the day, I’m going to be in an actual photograph with my son because it’s not fair to
either of us if I’m behind the camera all the time, even if I haven’t lost
those last, pesky 40 pounds or so.
I’m sensitive to the fact that not all women are moms or
even want to be moms. I worry (because
that’s sort of what I do) that celebrating Mother’s Day hurts my friends who
haven’t had children for whatever reason.
So, I’d like to go ahead and honor and thank the myriad women in my own
life who have mothered me. For example,
this really great couple “adopted” me in college. They treated me to dinner out sometimes, let
me wash clothes at their place, and loved me for no good reason. Mrs. Dempsey has listened to me talk about
nothing for hours and hours just because.
While I have a kind, self-sacrificing mom, I can also look
back through my life and see so many women who demonstrated patience, generosity,
and unconditional love – the same things I hope I’m impressing on my son.
Micah at 6 months old
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