Today marks my ninth Mother's Day as an actual mother. Since it is a day to celebrate me and all the other women who have birthed or raised children, I feel like the best way to celebrate is to take the day off. I've devoted my life to my children since the first one arrived, and on this one day a year, I don't want to do dishes or fold laundry or wipe noses or play Candy Land. I want to go to the movies or sit at Panera and slowly eat a pastry. In recent years (now that I have friends again), it's been a chance to gather all the ladies I love and go for a walk or eat fried food or peruse the perennials at a local greenhouse. It's a day to pause and reflect and remember who I am apart from these (not so) little people who call me Mom.
This week has been a challenge, for sure. I've had all three boys lose their minds over something, screaming and kicking and yelling at me. (Thankfully, it was all at different times. I probably would have taken off running down the street to get away from them if it had happened at once.) I've also had all three boys, at different times, tell me that I am beautiful and wonderful and they love me. And, more than anything, this week has made me feel as though I am right in the middle of this mothering thing.
Now, my oldest kid turned nine this year, aka halfway to adulthood. But I'm learning from watching my own mom that having a kid turn 18 hardly concludes the role. Moms are like the mafia: in it for life. However, I am deep in the midst of seeing how this plays out. We have our books and blogs and parenting experts and mom labels (like "Free Range" or "Helicopter" or "Tiger Mom" or "Hot Mess") and we are throwing our weight behind the importance of breastfeeding and limiting screen time and encouraging our kids while exposing them to the world, protecting them while also pushing them out of the nest.
After the week we've had, I admitted to a friend that I just don't know. I don't know if I'm doing anything right or if I'm making all the wrong choices. Am I disciplining the boys like I should? Am I too permissive? Am I pointing them in the right direction so they'll become capable and responsible adults, or am I missing moments to impart serious life lessons? Or, am I completely missing the point?
We are in the middle of our journey together as a family. We've left the starting point, we are down the road, we've come too far to go back. But we haven't arrived anywhere. We haven't reached the point where we see clearly. Our children are partially formed lumps of clay, sometimes looking worse than before it all began.
On my Mother's Day hike today, we climbed a structure a few stories high. We were surrounded by trees, and part of the way up, all I could see were branches and leaves. But when we reached the top, it was the most gorgeous view. Sunny and verdant and picture perfect. Looking down from the top, I could see this little pond we'd passed earlier, the vista of trees we'd walked through at the beginning. And I can't help but feel like this moment in time is in the midst of the climb. I can't see the forest for the trees. I have no idea how my children will turn out, how much will be my fault, or if any of it will trace back to this exact week. (Let me interject here: I doubt it.) I just have to keep going.
May these words ring true, not just for me, but for each of you. Stay the course. Keep showing up for your kids. Refrain from joining them on the floor during their tantrums, or matching them shout for shout. Keep making the sandwiches and reading the stories and folding the clothes and reminding them to wash their hands. Keep modeling respect and honesty and hard work, and pray for them every day. And don't forget your Mother's Day ice cream sundae.
