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Happy Mothers’ Day

Happy Mothers’ Day to all the moms out there or to anyone who has one! Poof, that takes care of everyone.

I haven’t always been on the same page as my mom, but I feel ultimately blessed to have her in my life. Today, she’s my friend, my confidant, my mentor, and on occasion she plays skipper gently steering me from the rough water that I like to head toward from time to time.

I know that not everyone is lucky enough to have this kind of relationship with a parent, and I have a similar one with my dad so I know how blessed I am.

I wonder on Mothers’ Day if I’m the mom my son needs me to be. I’m sure he would be quick to tell you that I fall miserably short. Is this because he is pushing 16, or does he know something I refuse to see? I’m sure most mothers act and react from a place of ultimate love and sacrifice, but is it enough?

We have pictures of Russell all over the house. Snapshots in time remind us all of happy days. It’s not like I wanted to capture the fit he threw at five when his banana broke in half or the day that I sucked up his Happy Meal toy when he failed to pick it up before I vacuumed!

The other day I happened to catch a glimpse of one set of photos of him in his cowboy boots and jeans with no shirt – he was probably four. I don’t think there is a boy out there who hasn’t owned a pair of cowboy boots at some point. Man, if he could have worn those things to bed, he would have.

Reflecting on those days brings such simple and happy times to mind. Those were days when he told me everything he thought, played in his sandbox and blew bubbles in the afternoon. I suppose it’s easy to forget the tantrums when his face got so red that I thought he might pop a blood vessel at any given moment, and I guess I can recall wondering whether I would be able to carry his thrashing body down the stairs without falling Pall Mall myself. Of course, I don’t focus on that. I want to simply remember that sweaty little boy running in the house with a handful of rocks that he just HAD to show me…or the sweet smell of the top his little bald head when he was baby.

Is motherhood about selective memory? When I caught a glimpse of those photos this week, I burst into tears. Days with a teen mostly leave me feeling inadequate speculating that I may be creating future therapy bills instead of helping him learn the necessary lessons to venture out in the world.

I wonder in his fight to express his independence if he will ever return and enjoy the type of relationship with me that I have with my mom and dad. The idea of him leaving and never looking back splits my heart open so wide doubting I would ever recover.

Is this parenthood gig about having enough trust in what you are trying to accomplish that everything will turn out ok? Do you get any points for effort? Did my own parents ever doubt what they were doing?

I know things occurred while I grew up that I would never want to repeat with my own son, but what I pulled from the other side is pretty damn fantastic. I honestly can say that I wouldn’t want a do-over… what if that meant I would arrive at this point with a different relationship with my parents than what I cherish so much today?

So, I guess on this Mothers’ Day, I say Thank You to my mom and all the mothers out there who tried their absolute best, and I want to say it really was good enough! And to my son, who would likely poke his eyes out with a fork than read this, I want to say that you are a fantastic human being just the way you are and believe it or not, I love you dearly. You are the best thing that ever happened in my life and I love watching you evolve into the man that you will someday become.


One Response

  1. I was a horrible teen and horrible to my mom. Now we are soooo close. I think we do the best we can and are never going to be perfect, it just isn’t possible. It is hard to imagine what my life would have been if I had not had kids. Can’t even picture it.

    BTW – No cowboy boots here!

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