“I will NOT be crabby on Mother’s Day.”
As I drove home from church, I recited the mantra I had adopted for the day. Mother’s Day had really got me thinking. There are so many expectations that accompany the holiday—the main one being grateful, attentive children whose only goal for the day is to MAKE MOMMY HAPPY. All clad in crisp, white linen shirts and shorts, the children hold hands and play Ring Around the
RosieMommy, and as they spin, they all take turns telling her how beautiful and wonderful she is.
I knew, however, that the odds that this would be happening in my house today were not real good. For one thing, buying my boys white linen outfits would be akin to putting a $100 bill down the garbage disposal. And for another thing, I’ve got a tween living under my roof. Need I say more?
And as I practiced some “positive self-talk” about how it was okay if the day wasn’t perfect, new images suddenly found their way into my head. Images that made my heart ache.
The boy who was on Boy #1’s baseball team last year who lost his mother in a freak accident over Spring Break two months ago. The boy who would be grieving, along with his dad, brother, and sister, on Mother’s Day. And the woman’s poor mother, who was driving the snowmobile that crashed—how inconceivably hard it would be to face this day.
My dear friend who would be spending her Mother’s Day with her four small children but without her husband, who doesn’t believe he wants to be married to her anymore.
The friend I testified for a year ago in a custody battle—that she lost. Yes, she’d get to see her children this weekend, but I know how hard it is when she has to say good-bye for another two weeks.
A coworker whose only child was killed by an estranged husband in a murder-suicide. I can’t even imagine.
And as I pulled into my driveway, with thoughts of my three healthy boys and husband who loves me, I realized something important.
The day would be perfect. No matter that my boys were still in their underwear. No matter that Boy #1 was already copping the attitude. No matter that Boy #3’s piercing scream from not getting his own way could be heard three houses down. It was already perfect. Just the way it was.
Here’s hoping you had a perfect Mother’s Day as well!