The most over-rated over-thought about, under-whelming totally disappointing day on the planet.
I have heard from so many mothers who have this idea in their heads how mothers days should be or how they would like it to be.
And the impending true-to-life stories of how the day was wrought with sadness, disappointment and, well, some crappy card… from their kids daddy.
It’s our fault really, we mothers have such high and mighty expectations from the little cone-headed screaming bundles of bloody flesh we spew from our ‘loins’.
We put so much into them, every day in every way, cater to their every need from the moment they latch on to the our ever-flowing life-giving milk ducts to the day they take every piece of furniture from our house to furnish their own lives and apts, to the day our last breath comes.
We tell them when they are little that they are our world, and then teach them when they are teens that the world does not revolve around them.
We protect them from bullies, from accidents, from burning their hands on the stove to sticking their fingers in the light sockets.
We have the momma bear instinct overwhelm us from the time they get their first toy yanked away from them, to the first push at the playground, to the middle school girl teasing them for not being ‘the same’, to people in the big bad real world discriminating against them.
We spend fortunes on cartoon band-aids to cover their cuts and bruises, on hospital visits for suspected broken arms when they think they can fly from the swing set on roller blades.
We hold them on our laps while they whimper from ear infections, we cry crocodile tears when we hear them screaming down the hall after surgery [and by the time they reach us, they are laughing with the nurse, popsicle drooling down their chin.]
Our shirts and bras have been filled with their tears from some horrible injustice done to them that they so willingly share with us.
We buy every single animal known to mankind with all the fancy accessories because they want something to love, to have, to hold.
We endure the pain of the deaths of all those animals right along side our kids, burying, flushing, holding funerals, saving ashes.
We pray, oh Lord do we pray for them. Some of those prayers might be selfish ones, but the Lord knows our hearts for our children.
We give them every tool for life, from school supplies, the right pair of shoes, private christian schools, the fancy pair of jeans, healthy food, allowances, cars, gas money, food money, prom money, college money, money, money. so much money.
We endured the mohawk stage, the highlight stage, the long-the short hair stage, we paid for every single hair cut and color, the ‘take your hat off in church’ stage, the ‘flipping the bangs until we want to grab the scissors’ stage.
We have read every book on parenting, every book for each particular problem our kids may have, from homosexuality to depression, from birth to toddler development, from discipline to teen angst.
We still look around frantically whenever we hear the little voice cry ‘mom’ in the grocery store.
We stay up at night, sometimes pacing, waiting for them to come home from work, school, prom and dates.
We then go to sleep peacefully knowing they are safe.
We have fought with their fathers over every type of parenting issue.
We cry in private when we have to spank them. We cry when they go to first grade.
We cry in private when we find out they done something horrible to another person. We cry in private when they leave to go to college, military, over seas or just move out. We cry at graduation, at their weddings, at their funerals.
We have loved them more than life itself, we know that if it was our life or theirs, we would gladly in a split second throw ourselves in front of the impending attack.
We know that no one EVER on this entire planet loves our children more than we do and we proudly tell anyone who wants to hear it.
We love them so fiercely. We laugh when they smile at us, when they share a toy, when they put another before themselves, when they so whole-heartedly love another things and beings, when they tell us they love us, when they hug us, when they write cute little poems to us.
We save every single report card, picture, A+ tests, picture, letter, notes from teachers, cards and presents.
We love to look back at baby pictures, we loved to see them naked, we loved bath time, nap time, grandma time.
We spend many hours taking them to shows, games, school plays, movies, ice capades, etc.
We endured rain, snow, sun and other obnoxious parents at every kind of sporting event, we coached T-ball, B-ball and soccer. We spent hundreds of dollars on team pictures, shoes, socks, cleats, Dr. visits.
We want our sons and daughters to know life, love, God, happiness, the joy of their own children, the security of a job, a house, a partner to share all these things with. We want them to be as good of a parent as we thought we were to them.. no, even better.
We also wish a bit of revenge on them with their own children.
We have sacrificed careers, love, time, money, energy for them. We love to be called ”[insert your kids name here]’s mother” .
We are at a loss when the time comes to let go of their sweet pudgy little hand and set them free into the huge scary un-safe world…. We now are called by our first names and sometimes we don’t know how to answer….
We, as mothers, probably expect a bit much from them. A card, a note, flowers, a phone call.
I don’t really know what each mother truly expects from their kids at mother’s day, but I can tell you what, each child knows what their own mother would love to receive on her special day and that’s what they should give them.
And thank them for the selfless job of raising, loving and caring for them.
Because the pay really sucks.
I love my son more than anything and right now as it stands in May 2011. I’m so glad I am in his life and I can see his face and tell him I love him.
Edit: I also love and thank my momma for her never-ending care, love and support of me throughout the years.