Oh, how I love mothers. Every day, of every second, I love
mothers. I love the mother in the checkout line with the toddler screaming; the
mother in church collecting flailing toddler limbs and struggling to stay
serene; the mother with teenage daughters at the mall haggling over an item of
clothing; the grandmother patiently awaiting the arrival of children and
children’s children back home. I love
them all. Everybody has a mother; everybody loves their mother. And on this day, I particularly love my own mother; my mother-in-law;
my grandmother. The women who have loved, cuddled, collected, controlled,
haggled, struggled, forgiven, enlivened, encouraged, and nourished me. It has
taken me far too long to say so.
An older mom friend told me recently that she can “wait 20
years for the thank you” from her teenage daughter; for now, said, she’s the
mom. For now, her mission is teaching, training, diapering, bickering, nigh-waking,
cuddling, loving, and moving through all the ups and downs of pouring oneself
out. I’ll wait, she said, smiling.
Twenty years. That’s a long time. I’m sorry to say it
has taken me even longer. Now that I’m
doing it myself, I suddenly look back and think – wow, these women were good at this! How did they enforce the
green beans like that? Make bedtime so fun? Now that I’m in the midst of engaging
in battles over bathtime, the cover has been lifted. Oh, I think, looking back. I guess I
shouldn’t have done…all that.
Now that I am a mother, I am repentant. I realize: I should not have put my clean,
folded laundry back in the dirty laundry. I should not have stuffed my vitamins
in good hiding places all over the house. I should not have tried to climb out
my window with a jump rope. Twice. My mom used to say to me (in warning?), “someday
you will have a little girl just like you!” And it’s true: I see myself all before
me now in a bundle of blond ponytails and flashing brown eyes as my own
daughter flies down the stairs in her pajamas and a princess cape, telling me she’s
ready for school.
“Good.”
And that’s all she’d get until bedtime. And I’m pretty sorry
for it, because now I look in the rearview mirror at my little ones and listen
to their “good” and I want to pull the car over and extract every memory of
every moment of our time apart out of their beautiful little heads. But what
did you DO? What did you THINK? What did you SAY? Now I wish I had told my mom
everything. But she would make me a snack. And I would not say thank you.
I think about this in hindsight, and I hope it gives me foresight.
My mother is now a beautiful Grandmother, doting dutifully
on her quiver of adoring grandchildren, spoiling them with treats and gifts and
time spent reading on her lap. I watch my mother now, and I have to think hard,
because I don’t want another thirty years to pass by before I once again look
back and think – oh no, I missed it again. I missed her again. Her presence. Her advice. Her listening ear, her commiserating
look, her laughter. I don’t want to
forget to say thank you for the ways she is my mother now, even that I’m grown.
I’m not sure, but I think I’m still a handful.
We can take our mothers for granted, because unlike the rest
of the world, the mothers will always care.
Children will always scream in all the wrong places. They will always whine
about combing their hair. They will wheedle and beg and sometimes make scenes
in the checkout lines. But even as I fume inside as I haul my little balls of
fury to the car, to time out, to the Potty Chair AGAIN with soiled clothes… if
I give it five minutes and a dimpled smile, all wrongs are gone. Cleared. Wiped
Clean. I love them; they are mine.
So I look this Mother’s Day at my mother, and at my mother-in-law,
and my grandmother. These remarkable women who have never stopped caring,
stopped giving, stopped wanting the best for their own. Sometimes it is hard to
stop and see the person who is always standing there in front of you, who is
there -- all the time. Sometimes we mean to say thank you, but we’re pulling
the groceries out of the car with one hand and holding the phone with the other
while grabbing for the baby teetering off the hip. Sometimes we think that
people know how we feel, so we don’t say it. But now that I’m a mother, I think
this is wrong. Yes, I can wait 20 years to hear it from my daughter. (It’s only
fair, after all.) But I can’t wait another 20 to say those oh-so-important
words now.
To the Mothers in my life: I love you. I appreciate you.
Thank you.
And for that thing I did when I backed the Jeep into the Minivan - I really hope I don't relive that.
