This Mother's Day Thing Is A Mixed Bag

We love our mothers. Of course we love our mothers. But they drive us crazy. They raised us wonderfully/strangely/amazingly/poorly or they didn’t raise us at all. They fill us with love or hate or guilt or horror or remorse. We take care of them or they take care of us. Perhaps we have never met them. Perhaps we like it that way. Perhaps we spend our entire lives searching for them. What if we lost them to death and the thought is still too much to bear? Mothers fill us with emotion. But they make us So. Very. Tired.
No matter how you feel about your mother, somebody will tell you you’re wrong. She’s sweet but overbearing. She was abusive but at least you had a mother. She was missing or dead but at least she wasn’t abusive. Be grateful for what you have. Think of all of the other people out there who love/hate/avoid their mothers. They really had it bad. You’re lucky and ungrateful.
Happy Mother’s Day.
We love our kids. Of course we love our kids. But they drive us crazy. They disobey and spill things on the carpet. They get into our things and date people that scare us. All three of them try to sit on our laps at the same time. They’re always in the hospital. They’re always in rehab. They scrape their knees and pierce their faces and take razors to their skin and hurt our hearts. They make us so incredibly happy and so desperately sad. They want their arms around us 24/7 when we need a break or won’t hug us when we’re dying for their affection. Perhaps we’ve lost one or two or several, and Mother’s Day reminds us keenly. Children are made of kisses and starlight and demons and magic and they make us So. Very. Tired.
No matter how you feel about your children, somebody will tell you you’re wrong. If you’re weary from not sleeping through the night for 16 months or for crying about their newest and greatest hurt, somebody will tell you to think of those who can’t have children. Who would be grateful for the nights spent worrying, calling their friends and hospitals looking for them, for helping them through their nightmares, for finding out that you couldn’t protect them from the monsters in their lives. Think of all of the women who would be better mothers to your children. You’re lucky and ungrateful.
Happy Mother’s Day.
There are women who are mothers, but not physically. They’re teachers, aunts, babysitters, Nana’s, friends, family by blood or by mutual decision. Perhaps they ache because they have no children of their own. Perhaps it’s by choice. Perhaps they’re told they’re less-than because they have working wombs but “selfishly” won’t use them to create babies.
Happy Mother’s Day.
Single fathers, who do all of the work, go to all of the plays, and fall asleep in front of the TV at night.
Happy Mother’s Day.
Individuals who want nothing to do with children at all, but have pearls and cards and chocolate advertisements shoved in their faces.
Happy Mother’s Day.
I know people who love the holiday. I know people who hate the holiday. It can stir up the happiest and darkest of emotions. I have friends who won’t come to church on Mother’s Day because the speakers wax on about their virtuous mothers, and it makes my friends feel inadequate. It feels like a day where we’re judged. Put on a pedestal or judged too harshly or perhaps we have distorted views of ourselves. We see ourselves when we’re frazzled and stressed and sick and we’re feeding everybody cold cereal for dinner. It’s easy to forget the love and cuddles when all we can see is that we can’t afford the money or time for a child’s gymnastic’s class or football practice.
Let’s forget the judgement. Let’s be kind. Celebrate this Mother’s Day, and give each other (and yourself) a pat on the back. Enough with the Mommy Wars, the Gender Wars, and every other single kind of war that saps us of our energy.
Happy Mother’s Day.

10 Comments on “This Mother's Day Thing Is A Mixed Bag”

  1. I lost my Mom to ALS four years ago. Today I spent a lot of time thinking about her, and I realized something — she’s still with me, somehow. And you know what? She’s still in my corner, on my side, pulling for me. Like she always was.
    Death? Hah. Mom is still Mom.

    1. Great! post. I love it. Great way of talking about mom. I made one dedicated to my mom. Moms deserved everything. It´s not because of the typical cliché of comments about ¨moms¨. It´s actually because it matters and they deserved it. I´d be lost without my mom. I own her everything.
      Again… wonderful post! 🙂

  2. Mercedes, I totally love this post. Well done my friend, well done indeed! You can take a “cubic buttload” of emotions and create something awesome out of them. Thank you. Hugs, Ardee-ann

  3. My deat friend I know at least one guy you brought home that shoulda scared your parents. he had aa crazy handsome friend if i remember correctly.

  4. I’m so sorry that you lost your mother, Frank. But I love that: Mom is still Mom. 🙂
    Thank you, Ardee-ann! I appreciate your reading and your constant support You’re such a light to me.
    Tom, I believe that’s why Dad called you The Goons. What crazy handsome friend? Bryan? 😛

  5. Normally I do not learn post on blogs, but I wish to say that this write-up
    very forced me to take a look at and do it! Your writing style has been amazed
    me. Thanks, quite great post.

  6. Thank you my dearest friend for such profound and thoughtful words. I truly hate this holiday. Not because I hate my mom: on the contrary, she has been, and always will be, my hero. But why are we guilted, one day a year, to celebrate women who had babies? It’s not hard to make babies. Anyone with a functioning uterus and a sperm donor can make one. Baby-making does not a mother make. And the rest of us feel small and worthless: as if being a parent is somehow a superior way of existing. I hate that if we don’t buy our moms flowers and chocolates and goopy cards, we are bad children. Most of all, I hate this holiday on behalf of the women who, all over the world, have chosen to love children who are not their own; who may resent and even hate these selfless women. Women who may never receive thanks for sleepless nights, aching hearts, and broken banks to try to help children who came from another’s womb. I am one of these women. And even though I know I will always be overlooked, I desperately want my stepson to say, “What you do matters. Who you are to me, matters. I know you didn’t have to love me, but you did. I’m so glad you are in my life, Mom.”
    Maybe I should write my own blog about this. My heart hurts.
    YOU, by the way, are an AMAZING mom to three FABULOUSLY UNIQUE and BEAUTIFUL children and you deserve to be celebrated EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

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