As I walked sleepily this morning into the kitchen for Mother’s Day, my ten year old son stretched his arm high into the air and pulled the trigger on his new confetti gun. “Happy Mother’s Day!” A plethora of sparkly colors spun through the air as he handed me a huge box of gourmet cookies. I feel so loved, as my children adorn my cheeks with kisses and handmade cards.
At 37 years old, I am a mother to four beautiful children. I am a daughter to an amazing, stalwart and faithful woman. I am a granddaughter to Joy, whom I miss, I send messages of hello to heaven regularly. This is a full and robust moment in my life, a time where laundry will never be done, food is always almost gone from my fridge (I can’t believe how much my kids eat!) and time is my most precious commodity. I vacillate between feeling inadequate to accomplish the day’s tasks, and yearning to learn and do more.
In tribute to my own mother, and the women in my life who have nurtured and inspired my growth, I say, “Thank you!!” Motherhood, on some days means waking wearily in the middle of the night to discover a child without a blanket covering their bare legs.
Sometimes, Motherhood is the imploring to a child to PLEASE, PLEASE go to sleep. Fatigue and work have worn my tired and frazzled senses to the point of begging.
Motherhood can often be the finest dinner, prepared with ease and time, or the grappling attempt at throwing a concoction of food together based on what is in the cupboard at the time. Recently my oldest daughter paid my a high compliment. She said, “Mom! I look in the fridge and there is nothing to eat. And then you pull together an amazing dinner! Thank you!” (That made my year.)
Motherhood can sometimes be heavy, when a child’s friends have abandoned your sweet little one, and all you can do is lend a listening ear as you wipe her tears and frustrations away.
Motherhood tests your resolve to find a patient and kind way to encourage a child to be kind, courageous, determined and content in a variety of manners, despite my own mood, amount of time available, and the adequate (or inadequate) number of hours slept the previous night.
Motherhood is magical, as I watch the spark in my 2 year old’s eyes as I enter into the room. It doesn’t matter that I have been with him every day of his life, or that it has only been 2 hours since our last greeting, his whole person lights up at the sight of my face, and he is running toward me to gather a kiss, a touch, and a smiling embrace.
Motherhood is baking cookies with a sweet moment of teaching and guiding through the family’s chocolate chip cookie recipe.
Motherhood often feels insurmountable, and the impossible mission of completing chores, homework, work, cleaning, tutoring, talking and supporting, not to mention the supernal goal of nurturing a young incompetent human to grow into a well rounded, respectful, contributing member of society. And yet, if I have given my best effort, at the end of the day, if something is forgotten, or broken; it’s okay. It’s going to be alright.
My question, do my kids feel loved? Do they feel safe? Do they know what to expect? I hope so. That is my life’s work.
The other beautiful thing about motherhood is personal and different for each mom, and for each child. Like a song, the melodies we sing are unique to our talents, tenacity and turmoil. My own perfect day is far fetched to yours, but in our own beauty we grow and discover who we were meant to become.
I am grateful for many mothers, who gave life to my dreams, my sense of self, and my security. I am grateful for the opportunity to feel the most immense pain, surreal gratitude and indescribable connection to the humans I call my children. We are tethered by a bound that knows no distance or sphere. While I do not recall my existence before mortality, it whispers to me, that I belong to a, “more holier sphere.”
Coming in before the storm. Bear Lake, Utah, Summer 2015
Before I was, I was. Just as before they were, they were. We were connected before we were made a family here on earth. The majesty of God’s plan is that they came to our family individually, as we were prepared for them and as we desired them. Their mortal vessel contains the essence of their creation; a personality, a spirit, desires, passions, weakness, strength and choice. My body, a mortal vessel of creation bore them, programmed them and delivered them; but their humanity, and their divinity was theirs before they came here through me. It is a divine privilege to call them children. It has been my most beautiful, humbling, challenging, difficult, glorious opportunity.
My children have been front and center witness to my most abhorrent flaws, and yet they still wrap their arms around my neck and beckon an evening kiss. I hope that seeing my own weaknesses, gives them respite from the ever present demands of perfection that world implies. I hope that in seeing my struggle; both toward the accomplishment of goals, and the weakness of my mortality, that they will learn empathy and desire for hard work. In witnessing my growth and improvement, I hope that they will sense an unborn greatness inside of themselves that is born through toil, vision and perspiration. In hearing my laughter in the humor of human connection, I hope that they will desire the companionship of someone who brings them joy and pleasure. In seeing the remnants of pregnancies on my body, that they recognize the marks of a mother’s flesh – one of sacrifice, love and total commitment to their well being.
On the eve of this rainy, spring Sabath, I wish all the mothers of my life a happy day. I appreciate you, and love you in more ways that I could possibly describe. Happy Mother’s Day!!
