Tomorrow is the day each year that we honor our mothers. It is, in some ways, a manufactured day, driven by consumerism and flower shops and card companies, all getting in on the gig to prod each of us to remember our mothers. Does it really require a special day, set aside just for the purpose of being grateful, for us to recognize the contributions our own mothers have made to our lives? Shouldn't we always be grateful for the woman who gives us her all, and then keeps giving?
This morning I read a small item on CNN, the best gift your mother ever gave you, written by a lot of regular, every day people, about what one thing their mother has done for them that means the most. The list, unsurprisingly, is not about the big stuff of life. I didn't see a single mention of anything that cost much money or which was really, in any way, out of the ordinary. Instead, it was a list of loving actions by a lot of ordinary women who do something extraordinary - raising a child to be a loving, thankful, decent adult.
As a mother, I am all too aware of my failings. I know I have fallen short, not once, but over and over, and yet, my children continue to forgive and forget and love me anyway. I have heard it said that every day is "Children's Day," but in truth, every day that you are a mother is a gift, not only to your children, but to you. Each day is another opportunity to try and get it right, to do something ordinary and yet not.
When my children were little, Mother's Day was not a big celebration at our house. As I recall it, when someone mentioned Mother's Day to my then husband, his response was the predictable line, "She's not MY mother. Why should I do anything?" [At least he's consistent. Then, as now, he has always missed the point. Any point.] But even then, I saw the faintest inklings of what the day would become, because my darling daughter would do her best to make the day special for me - to celebrate me in whatever way she could.
These days, I look forward to Mother's Day all year long, because it's a day for my daughter and me. (My son would be included, too, of course, she would include him in every minute of every day if she could, but he is away at school in finals.) Each year, my thoughtful girl dreams up a different day, filled with activities for the two of us that we love to do together.
She has never missed, whatever she has dreamed up, because she knows me inside and out. We have gone shopping, gone to the park, gone to museums, had a picnic, gone to the zoo, walked the dogs, done ceramic painting. There is an almost endless variety to the things she dreams up for us to do, but it is always fun and special, because she devotes her time to me, and doesn't allow the distractions of her busy life to get in the way for that one special day.
I am really looking forward to the day tomorrow, when she and I will spend the day together. I don't know if the day means as much to her, right now, as it means to me, but I am very aware of how much that day will mean to her when I am not here any more to celebrate with. I think she will someday look back at those special times and be comforted by the memories she will hold in her heart. I am glad that my sensitive child will have those memories to hold on to, because she knows how happy those times make me, and she will never feel guilty about whether or not she showed me how much I mean to her.
I, of course, have my own mother, and I have my own memories. My lovely mother has received more tacky jewelry and salt and pepper shakers than a woman should have to contend with in a lifetime, and always managed to look thrilled and surprised about it all. More importantly, she wore the tacky jewelry in public, where other people could see it, which was a sacrifice I didn't fully appreciate until I had children of my own.
Which reminds me of a funny story, that has a point, I promise. When he was very young, my son proudly bought Christmas presents for each of us. He was then, as he is now, very insightful and thoughtful about his gifts, and he gives a lot of consideration to what gift would be appropriate for each person. This particular year, [as every year,] he was on a pretty small budget, so he had to make each penny count, and he did a superlative job of finding just the right thing for each of us.
I love music, and I love Christmas, and his perfect gift to me, in his mind, combined the two. He gave me a large gold colored plastic bell that played a Christmas carol, a big, shiny decoration that could last forever.
What looks spectacular to a six year old evidently loses its lustre when you are 20 something, because each year, when I pull that bell out of the box, the same thing happens. He groans, he says, "Seriously, mom, you do not have to put that out any more. It's embarrassing. And looks awful." And I laugh, and lovingly put it on the shelf with the other cherished decorations, tacky all, but filled with memories I wouldn't exchange for all the money in the world.
That is, in fact, one of my favorite decorations, of course, something he may never understand (he is a guy, after all.) That plastic bell was the symbol of his love and his desire to show me how much I mean to him, and he gave me something that went straight to my heart. He didn't just pull the first thing he saw off a shelf. He thought about what meant a lot to me, and impractical as it was, he bought me the best of its kind that he could afford. That is love in its purest form. Who could resist?
That is the secret to what makes Mother's Day special, and why most of us love our mothers so much that a day which could be a hokey holiday instead is filled with such meaning. Our love for our mothers, and her love for us, is not about the big stuff. It's about the tiny, everyday moments where she put herself out there for us, and gave us the gift of herself.
My own mother has faced hardship and trial her entire life, and yet, she is probably the most optimistic person I have ever known. Nothing, and I do mean, NOTHING, seems to bring her down off her perch in the clouds. She has endured the unthinkable several times over, and yet, she continues to assure me, whenever anything goes wrong, that it will all work out in the end. She is, in a word, amazing. Some other words might be inspiring, angelic, shy, quiet, beautiful, hard-working, dedicated, loyal, and genuine.
I abandoned all hope a long time ago that I would ever live up to my mother's standards where optimism is concerned. I couldn't possibly face life with the sort of determination that she has shown to the adversities that she has faced. It is seriously ridiculous how upbeat she remains after 82 years of hardships and set-backs.
Her response, when I say something about it, is that you can't just give up, you have to keep on going, because that is what you do. You can't waste your time bemoaning what you don't have, what hasn't gone right. You take each thing as it comes, do your best, and somehow, it will all work out in the end. She is my hero, for a lot of reasons, and I am most grateful to have her to turn to at the end of each day when I am beaten down by what life has thrown my way.
So, on this Mother's Day, as always, I am most grateful for the wonderful grace and faith that my mother has not only talked about, but lived, her entire life. She is the perfect example of Christian hope, and although I don't do it as well as she does, she inspires me to keep my head up and my feet on the ground, putting one foot in front of the other until somehow, some way, I reach the end of the trail.
My mother was truly a Mother's Day gift to me, because I didn't start my life with this particular model as my own. My biological mother gave birth to me, then gave me life by giving me to the mother that I call mine. While I rarely think about the woman who gave me that life so long ago, I am grateful to her each Mother's Day, because she gave me the chance to have the mother and the family that I have today. I am grateful that she recognized her own inability to be the mother I deserved, and gave me to someone who could do the job right.
My mother did many ordinary, and yet incredibly special, things for me over the years. The things that really stand out for me, it will probably surprise her to learn, are the things where she left her practical self behind, and did something unexpected, just because she loved me and wanted to make me happy.
The most important gift my mother gave me was the gift of her undivided attention after school. Each day, when I arrived home, she would listen to me talk about my day. But it wasn't the sort of half-listening thing that a lot of moms do, she wasn't just acting interested, she actually cared.
When the weather was nice, she would have packed up a little lunch, [which if you live in Minnesota, you will understand means an entire meal to sustain you so you can make it to supper in an hour,] and we would go for a walk along the railroad tracks behind our house. She would point out the birds, we listened to the rails for the sound of the train, and we talked [or I talked] until it was time to go home and work again. I will treasure the memory of those days until I take my last breath, and it didn't cost her a thing.
My mother was eminently practical. She rarely indulged either herself or me with things that weren't necessary, not because she was mean, or even just naturally thrifty, but because we had very little, and she had to be a genius at making too little money go too far. So I grew up wearing my cousin's hand-me-down clothes, and shopping wasn't something that we did often.
On one notable occasion, however, we went shopping for a dress. I have no recollection what the occasion was that prompted the shopping trip, I only remember finding the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. When I tried it on, I fell in love with it, and wanted it more than anything I have ever wanted in my whole life. It was a Hallmark moment, right up until my mother realized that it needed to be dry cleaned. [I'll be honest, the words "Dry Clean Only" still bring a little shock wave of horror every time I see them on a label.]
It was immediately obvious that I would never own that spectacular dress. My mother, thrifty and practical soul that she is, would never consent to a dress for a child that required dry cleaning under any circumstances, and I knew it without even asking. I remember standing in the dressing room, understanding the reality, even understanding the reason why, but my heart broken over this silly dress.
The tears welled up in my eyes unbidden, and before I could stop them, rolled silently down my face. And that was when my mother did something so out of the ordinary, I will never forget it. She looked at my face, and she said I could have that dress. She didn't complain, she didn't talk about how expensive it would be, she didn't discuss the impracticalities. She just said yes, and it felt like a miracle to me.
I got a lot of mileage out of that dress, by the way, as did the two cousins who wore it after me. I feel certain that my mother got her money's worth, so hopefully that helped her practical nature feel better about the whole thing. But now that I am mom myself, I have a feeling the look of wonderment on my face when she said yes was probably all the thanks she needed.
As I have mentioned, my mother was a practical woman, and not usually given to fanciful impulses. Shortly after my dad died, I decided I simply could not live without a parakeet. I don't recall how I got the bug in the first place, nor do I have any recollection of harassing her for one, although I suspect I did. All I remember is the excitement of driving down to Rochester to Woolworth's to buy that bird she ultimately consented to let me have.
We got the cage, we got the food and treats, and finally, we got the bird. I remember driving home, so excited I got a migraine, but elated over having this bird. I don't know how my mother felt inside about adding another mouth to feed to the menagerie we already had, but I know that bird brought me a lot of comfort over the years. And I also know that I never think of that bird without thinking about that trip to buy him, and how much that meant to me that she gave me that gift.
The most special moments with my mother are about her and me, time spent, not on the important things of life, but on each other. They are about playing scrabble, her reading me to sleep when I had a migraine, going for walks, making crafts, and her delicious donuts. They are about her doing dishes while I practiced piano, and about getting through some of the hardest days of our lives with each other. We were a team, she and I, and I could not have asked for a better captain.
The most special moments with my daughter are about her and me, time spent, not on the important things of life, but on each other. They are about singing along to musicals, going to museums, making crafts, and buying new shoes. They are about sitting in her room talking about life, and about getting through some of the hardest days of our lives with each other. We are a team, she and I, and I could not have asked for a better player.
The most special moments with my son are about him and me, time spent, not on the important things of life, but on each other. They are about attending concerts, reading during asthma treatments, playing horse in the driveway, going to Disney, and arguing philosophy. They are about learning to lean on him, just as he leans on me, and getting through some of the hardest days of our lives with each other. We are a team, he and I, and I could not have asked for a better player.
When all is said and done, most of us honor our mothers every time we do the right thing, whenever we help someone out, when we are good friends and citizens. But it seems right that one day a year should be set aside to show the person who taught us, in the beginning, what love is really all about, just how much we cherish her.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom. And Happy Mother's Day to Adam and Erin, without whom I would not be a mother myself. You give meaning to my life, and a reason to be.
