Sunday, May 11, 2008

Yo Mama, feelin' Smithy?

The May WordsmithsUnlimited challenge is up. The people have spoken, and we (or those who choose to) must answer.


Won't you consider adding YOUR take on this most intriguing picture challenge to the roster or usual suspects at WSU? Spider lady would be so pleased.



HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY to all those who are mothers, who have a mother, who are married to a mother, or who are 'mothers' of a different sort altogether.

(Question - gay couples with kids..... Who gets celebrated on Mother's Day? Does it depend on gender or on role, or neither, or both? I ask this from a real desire to KNOW, to understand, so if you have insights please let me know.)

Mother's Day - ah the memories. When the Things were little, all I asked for on Mother's Day was a day to myself, a day on which I didn't have to cook or do diaper duty, or have to clean up pureed squash, or have to soothe the wailing baby for the umpteenth time. Let's face it - mothering little children is a difficult, tiring business, isn't it? Yes, you get paid in cuddles and hugs and the adoration of the wee ones who think that you are no less than God, and that's all well and good, but my GOSH that effort it takes to get the daily grind accomplished.

For that reason, I used to love that period just before the boys bedtime, when the daily grind was over and the Things would snuggle up into my lap for a few minutes and we'd just....sit. Warm and cozy, tucked up into one another, one little boy noggin on each shoulder, their bath-damp hair wafting baby shampoo smells, their jammied bodies warming toward sleepytime.

Now that they're older, I miss that. I'd go back for a day of that, to see the little boys they used to be, to be the one to bathe them and snuggle them and hold their soft wee hands, to stroke their round cheeks, to look into their wide eyes and fall into the depths of the people I was just beginning to know. They were remarkable little boys, and in their little boy ways taught me love that I didn't know existed and patience I didn't know I had. The exhaustion of those long-gone days was worth it to learn those lessons.

Now that they're older, the snuggling is not as frequent, but each and every morning I get hugs from Things almost as tall as me; their arms fully able to wrap around me, their heads only an inch or two lower than mine, and I marvel at how in the space of just a relatively few years, those soft round babies could turn into such wondrous almost-men. Things change so quickly, you know?

One thing that won't change though is that I will always be their mother. Even when they're grown men, taller by far than me, stronger than I'll ever be, with lives and families of their own, they'll always be my children, my babies, my Things. That's how it works, that's how it has always worked, generation to generation down through the tree of human life deep into the roots of history.

Everybody is someone's baby. Everyone. Astounding.


To my Mom - thank you from the bottom of my heart for everything you did and do. I love you.

For all y'all other Moms - way to go. Being a Mom is an act of bravery.

For all y'all who HAVE moms - tell her you love her if you do, tell her you respect her if you do, tell her you miss her if you do, tell her she's special and one of your heroes if she is. No Mom is perfect, but I'm guessing that even if you've had tough time with you own personal Mom, you can think of one nice thing to say to her. At the very least, she's the reason you're here, right?

And have a wonderful day.

No comments: