An Open Letter to My Lively Boys on this Mother’s Day
Here’s lookin’ at you, kids
Dear Boys,
I realize you’re excited about this year’s Mother’s Day celebration not really because of me, but because we’re having pizza. With fries to share. And sodas. Aces!
Growing up, I celebrated Mother’s Day with your grandma, grandpa, and aunt. We marked the occasion with a trip to a restaurant and chocolates and flowers and big Hallmark cards with sentimental messages. I’m pretty sure I was excited about the food as well.
So, I get it. This is a made-up holiday (as holidays are). I’ve come to…a lesser expectation that it be held as a monumental gold standard. Really, we should appreciate one another on the regular.
Look, if you have children someday, please demonstrate to their mom how important she is. I’d like to suggest that this be less in the once-a-year-chocolates-and-cards-and-flowers routine and more in the small, regular moments of your days. (But still, yay for chocolates [or pizza] and cards [especially homemade] and flowers.)
Of course, I appreciate my mother now for who she was more than I ever did as a child. And I sure do appreciate that the three of you made me a mom. For me, the role of motherhood was an aspiration. By the time each of you arrived, I had been waiting for you my whole life.
I have wanted to be a mom since I was old enough to dress dolls and snatch other people’s babies in church.
(I don’t remember at what age they allowed children to start caring for children in the church nursery, but I showed up for duty pretty young, startling parents at the infant room door by expecting them to turn their six-month-old over to eight-year-old me. “I’ll take this, thank you. See you in a couple of hours.”)
At some point, I remember wanting like, seven kids. Can you imagine?
Never mind that you don’t include Dad and me in the math, but think of the anxiety and razor-sharp vision when you’re dividing up the food in this house into the most equal one-third portions ever…
WE’D HAVE TO SPLIT THE NO-BAKE COOKIES AND LOAVES OF PUMPKIN BREAD INTO SEVENTHS. (You think you’re sick of fractions now…)
Turns out, three was e̶n̶o̶u̶g̶h̶ plenty.
Sons, you are dreams come true and answers to prayer. You’re lively and loud and smart and spry, each in a unique way.
I love it when you bring hugs or short visits after I’ve been on a rare, out-of-town trip or when I emerge from a much-needed quiet time in my room. I relish those moments of unspoken communication (and often, full conversations) with just our odd facial expressions. I’m proud of how you can, after all these years, still entertain yourselves with a cardboard box, a book, or just each other. (Now please take that ball outside before you break the house).
I’m not naming names, but I would absolutely not be who I am today without hauling your screaming body from a grocery store, ignoring catty remarks from people who didn’t like to see you attached to a leash, or discovering that you had taken up residence with a customer service associate at the front of the Wal-Mart.
Your creativity and ingenuity are unmatched.
The exhibits you build from Legos! The places you’ve stashed candy wrappers! The way you collaborated and propped up that old jungle-gym slide and ended up — all three of you — on the roof of the shed. Oh, my heart. (And…Oh. My. Heart.)
From my days as nursery helper to babysitter to nanny to teacher: I knew children were a lot of work. What I did not know was how much my children would make me laugh and smile and teach me not to take every moment quite so seriously.
I’m especially grateful to you for that. It’s my most oft-repeated advice to other moms. (Yes, you still have to do your chores.)
Thank you for the grace you give me when I yell, and when, on a movie night, I eat pretty much all the popcorn. Really, Mother’s Day is as much yours as it is mine. As we celebrate, may this knowledge bring you the utmost satisfaction.
I love you so, so much. Please save me one-fourth of the fries.
All my love,
~ The World’s Okayest Mom
