Belated Thoughts about Mother's Day

After becoming a mother, Mother's Day became sort of a complicated day. It really shouldn't be in theory, but it always has been (in the short time that I have been a mom.) As with most holidays, there are always a lot of expectations around it. And, I have always found with greater expectations, come greater disappointment (this was a quote from Spider-Man's Aunt May, that never made the final cut of any of the Spider-Man movies.) 

Don't get me wrong, I have had some wonderful things done for me and made for me. And, I appreciate them so much. But, inexplicably something always goes wrong -- a meltdown, an injury, a sickness, a fight, etc. etc. Or, maybe, what I had in mind as a "perfect day" never really happens. In short, I have learned to just roll with it, and appreciate anything I get.

I also have heard from some people that think just because you're a mom, doesn't make you special -- which I agree with, to a point. I mean, not all moms are great. Not all moms WANT to be moms. Not all moms really tried that hard to be moms, or try that hard while they're moms. I get it. And, I am not really sure if I want to force my kids to tell me I am wonderful, and that they love me. It is always much better when it comes naturally. 

And, really, am I good mom? I mean, obviously, I am not perfect. I do a lot of things wrong. And, quite honestly to some I am probably the worst mom in the world, and to some I am the best. Who's to judge, right? 

That's all to say that once I became a mom, I never really appreciated how lucky I am to have my mom ... and honestly my dad. My parents. Parenting is hard, yo. Real hard. There's so many decisions to be made, so many choices. And that's after the whole "keeping them alive" -- which can sometimes be a physcially daunting task. 

***

On Mother's Day weekend, my parents were in town and we were all at brunch. My mom passed along some cards and a gift for me. And also, a yellowed piece of notebook  paper folded into thirds with the word "IMPORTANT" written in pencil, in handwriting by my teenaged self.

OH GOD, I thought. I opened the letter in dread, afraid of what the angsty, teenaged version of myself was writing to them. 

The letter started out:

"Dear Mom and Dad, 
I feel that I should have more privelages (spelled wrong) than what I am receiving. Being the inferior I am in this family (woah), my wishes will not be granted. Obviously, I am not the only person that feels this way. Here are some other point of views."

I then proceeded to quote the lyrics of the Van Morrison song, "Domino" (yeah, that's right), and also Lenny Kravitz's "Are you gonna go my way." Because, you know. ANGST. It should also be noted that in the "Are You Gonna Go My Way" lyrics, there was lots of underlining. I also concluded the letter by defining the words "independent," "liberal," and "responsible" -- totally a shout out to high school term papers.

Just to note quickly:

* This is before the internet, so I totes memorized those lyrics.
* I obviously did not know that "Are You Gonna Go My Way" was based on Jesus. Lord knows I was not trying to compare myself to Jesus. But, maybe Jesus felt the same way with Mary and Joseph. Food for thought there.

Then, I came across this post from one of my favorite bloggers/authors, Rebecca Woolf, and it got me a-thinkin:

“I feel we do our children such a disservice by treating them like 'children.'

They are human beings with complex ideas and worthy emotions and justified rebellions and they ought to be seated at the adults table for OUR sake, if not theirs.

My parents taught me that.

By listening. By never dismissing me or my feelings, no matter how dramatic and seemingly insane. By treating me like the adult I assumed I was until I realized I was not. I post my old diary entries on Instagram every week as these rather mortifying "notes to self" -- reminders that I never really grew up. That THAT GIRL is still me and that as a mother, I am also still a child. I think it's important for children to see their parents that way. Flawed and often apologetic. Imperfect with stories that extend long before they were born and into a sort of dark territory of cautionary tales.”

After reading this I thought, YES. THIS is what parenting is all about.

***

This past Mother's Day, after the homemade gifts were given, the brunch was eaten, my parents had left, and the injuries were had (a tick and possible allergic reaction to shrimp, BTW), it was just me and my boys. A storm started rolling through. I got really excited and told Abe and Sam to come outside and watch it with me. 

Abe, freshly bathed and in his pjs, sat on the back of my car in the open garage. I sat down next to him. He was chatting about something ... something grown up, I think. Because I had the distinct feeling that we were not mother and son, but friends. I was sitting here, talking to a person, not because I had to, but because I wanted to. At that moment, he was not my child, but a person, and I listened to him and talked to him like the person that he is. A smart, funny, marvelous, wonderful person. How lucky am I? 

Thanks Mom and Dad for letting me be my own smart, funny, marvelous, ANGSTY person, so I can enjoy my own little people.