Like most of you today, I am taking time to pay homage to my mother. Believe it or not, I’m actually writing this post from her house, and on her computer. The feast my mother prepared for the family has been devoured, gifts have been exchanged, and the grandchildren are running around the house getting into trouble as I hastily attempt to get this post onto my blog for this weekend’s installment before Grandma starts yelling at them, signaling that it is time to take my darling brood home. It is always a treat to visit my parents’ house, but especially so this Mother’s Day: today, we traveled through time.
“What?” you gasp.
Yes, you heard me right. Ok, well, maybe not really “time travel” as we usually understand it, but we did take a trip down Memory Lane. Today, I learned that I was born only a few days before Mother’s Day after a very troubled pregnancy and lengthy delivery. As I understand it, it is a miracle that I exist at all. Apparently, my birth was such an amazing event that the nurses presented my mother with a cake honoring her induction into the great vocation of motherhood.
Hmm, I didn’t get a cake when my children were born; did you?
That’s ok. The hugs and kisses I receive from my kids on a daily basis more than makes up for it, as do the cupcakes we had for dessert after lunch today.
Three more children were born after myself, although (to hear it from my lips as a child) one would never have believed those pretended usurpers of my doting mother’s devotion were important because my mother had a way of making you believe you were her one and only favorite. It wasn’t until I reached adulthood that I learned that I was not my mother’s favorite, as my siblings all report having the same experience. Darn. Needless to say, after years of believing I was the apple of my mother’s eye, I was astounded to learn the truth: she loved all of us. I know. Shocking.
“How can this be?” my selfish ego asked.
Well, it wasn’t until I had my second child that I began to capture just the faintest understanding of how. The real question isn’t how, but rather, how can one not love each and every one of their children? How can a mother not smile at their accomplishments, or cry with each one when they hurt? A good mother sees in each of her children an aspect of herself, and the potential of a future still yet to be realized, even as her own grows dimmer with each passing day. Each child is her hopes and dreams realized, and are the promise of even those aspirations she could have never begun to imagine. Good mothers love. It’s just what they do. If I am able to accomplish even half of what mine has done and continues to do for her children and grandchildren, I think I should say I will be fine.
Happy Mother’s Day, everyone!
(posting from the home of The Best Mother In the World)