Thursday, May 5, 2011
I am never quite sure about mother's day. Somehow the celebration of it feels forced. While everyone has a mother, not everyone has a mom.
Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't want to tell my mom how much I love her or appreciate her. But I find it awfully presumptuous to think that everyone wants to honor or celebrate the person who brought them into this world.
Knowing that my mom doesn't get on Facebook, nor does she know how to get to this blog, I can safely write that while I love my mother and appreciate all that she has done for me and my family, our relationship has not been what I had hopes for. Enough said.
When I became a mother I am pretty certain that I remember looking deeply into Brenna's sleepy eyes while rocking her to sleep, whispering promises of what kind of mother I would be. I would be nothing like my own mom. In my profound and glorious wisdom I would improve greatly those areas that drove my own mother and myself apart.
Often I wonder if my mom ever made me promises of being a better mother than HER mom was to her!
Alas, over the years I found myself saying some of the crazy things my mom would say to me or grab the girls' arms and shake them when they misbehaved. Guilt and shame gushed into my heart washing away all my good intentions.
As the kids and I got older I saw glimmers of hope in my behavior as I worked to change the patterns developed. Conversations with Brenna and Kalie often prompted me to rethink my parenting style. Wade's influences too gave me courage to look at teaching, discipline and my reactions to situations from a new perspective.
Sure, there are plenty of awful memories of fights and arguments, times when I completely acted irrational and lost all sense of my grown up self. (Remember when I announced that you girls could do you own laundry from now on? It was right after you gripped about what we were having for dinner.)
Time and age become my friend as the memories of all my mistakes fade into the past and only the good memories are clearly seen in my mind's eye.
Yet guilt and regrets are hard to shake, and they often rear their ugly heads to remind you that you really aren't much better than anyone else.
Growing up is a never ending process. At least it shouldn't be. I am still a mom, but my roles have changed. I can't, try as I might, control my children. They are now all old enough to take care of themselves and in fact do a pretty good job of it.
So what kind of mom do I want to be, now that I am all grown up?
I want to be the kind of mom that encourages her children.
I want to be the kind of mom that speak truth and love, sprinkled of course with humor.
I want to be the kind of mom that my kids still want to call and tell me their joys, hurts, pains, sadness and hopes.
I want to be the kind of mom that prays for her kids.
I want to be the kind of mom that marvels at the adults her kids are becoming.
I want to be the kind of mom whose kids call her blessed. Because I am.
Thank you, Brenna, Kalie and Jesse: for being such amazing and wonderful children.
Happy Mother's Day! I love you!
Oh yah, and I really would like one more medium sized to large wind-chime.