My husband has said to me, “Every day is Mother’s Day.”
While there is a good ring to that and as much as I’d like to believe it on behalf of all mothers out there, I know the emotional reality doesn’t come even close at times.
The heart, the mind, the body, and the spirit, know too well at times that not all days feel like a mother was ever put first into thought.
As one mother put it when she forgot a towel for herself in the women’s locker room just recently, “We mothers can always manage anything.”
She had showered, got her young daughter from the kids’ club to do the same, left her older daughter to fend for herself, while still managing to be the first one to be dressed before her children.
She had even beaten me out of the shower that I hadn’t a chance to see if she had used paper towels as I had suggested.
Nonetheless, she clearly managed.
We recently saw at a display window a shirt that read, “There Are Moms Way Worse Than You: Irrefutable Proof That You Are Indeed a Fantastic Parent”.
In my earliest twenties as a mother, I would have felt timid to take humor in that shirt, but now reaching my golden years, five children after, I could only laugh out loud with my husband, knowing he knows between the lines beyond what that shirt encompasses.
Running into mothers up to this weekend, having heard a mom confess that she had wanted to sleep in, but of course, was on the sidelines with her children to those still raising their grown children, I heard myself suggesting, while absolutely meaning every word, “Give yourself a big hug and love on yourself!”
I honestly felt shoulders relax in quiet approval with relieving smiles all around.
I have continued to speak my truth, graduated to that time in my life where years of undying love and sacrifice have given me grown and strengthened comfort within my own peace and harmony.
Someone had to give moms around still clearly fighting that inner self being manipulated by the world of unnecessary darkness permission to feel self-love without guilt.
What I’ve come to learn is that no mother is perfect to every child, at every exact time, for the rest of each and every one of their children’s lives.
A mother can walk a straight path with a bundle of things on or in her head, holding several things on one hand, while managing to balance even more on the other hand, and someone will call her out for having forgotten to look their way or stoop down when they needed her to.
I subconsciously made a point to make breakfast for my children each morning realizing now that I cannot remember a time where Mama got up to do the same.
While there can be understandable pinches in my heart which have led me to make certain my children would not have to endure the same, five children later, I know each of them have found a gap in my way of showing them my love, one love language not met after another.
Mama had lost one child after me only to lose another one around two decades later.
She needs no forgiveness for having endured such daily fight in addition to all other challenges she had to quietly face as a mother.
Strangely enough, as she once said to me over the phone that she wishes to be strong like me one day, it was when I saw she seemingly lacked the strength that pushed me to be stronger for myself.
I trust my children to have done and do the same.
Not one tree is exactly the same regardless if grown and raised in the same forest, however.
I put it upon myself to be the mother I envision.
Almost three decades, I find myself still up before others to make breakfast.
And then, a noise can be heard downstairs.
The movements come from our youngest two still with us.
At the age of almost eleven and one who just turned twelve, my peripheral takes note that both have decided to wake up early on a school day to do wrestling drills with one another.
They have gone above their father to practice on their own. I know this because it’s past the long months of wrestling season and their father is at rest as their team coach.
Still, there they were, up and early, drilling in the family room.
As aggression has slowly taken on to each of their character, I could only prepare their breakfast in silence in the kitchen, anticipating a disagreement bound to arise, but knowing I would have to endure as much as my heart, mind, body, and spirit would be able to take, hoping that they would work out their once again, differences.
Sure enough, one suggested a drill to do only to be rejected of the suggestion by the other.
I felt that familiar friction in the room, where if one continued to push forward, so would the other to counter.
The only way this would return to peace is if one was to back down.
Carrying the genetic dispositions of both me and my husband, neither did. Still, I was in the kitchen quietly continuing to finish preparing breakfast, thinking my morning before heading off to face my own students would require some major decompress in the car to compartmentalize what was just about to take place.
And then, it happens. You hear, “I’m just trying to help you, okay?”
Silence. Pause. The other breathes.
And then, the other takes a chance further to suggest, “Let’s do that drill tomorrow. Okay?”
Silence. Pause. Both breathe.
I know an agreement had just been made without any more words spoken.
Silence. Pause. This time, a quick one from me to quietly remember to take a silent deep breath as I must have briefly forgotten.
It was a good day for a mother.
Just yesterday, while we sat on the bleachers to wait for both of those same sons’ track events to officially begin, I took note of both going beyond their four fun run laps, receiving a bracelet band for each lap finished, to run some more.
At first I thought, “Well, they sure love to run!”
And then, I saw what each were doing.
They were running with others who had yet to finish, pushing them to the finish line.
And then, there not only ran my youngest with one to the end, whence everyone else had finished in their team and all other schools to add, but as we sat afar, I could see my son walking off to the side, allowing his teammate to finish the very last few steps on his own only to walk over and meet him at the finish line.
Taking all his bracelet bands off, he gives them to his teammate.
It was a good moment for a mother.
My most recent card to my own Mama reminds her again that I continue to do good knowing she knows I reach for nothing less.
As a mother, I know that is all we hope for from our children, whether we had anything to do with their moments or not, our greatest glory is seeing that good has been sown.
Happy Mother’s Day to all us mothers and may there truly be more good moments, more good days, than just one day a year.
If not today, give yourself a hug and love on yourself, still.
The good news is, there are three hundred sixty four more in a year.
If we can’t have them all, a few should suffice.
