Mother's Day is a curious holiday that one can't fully appreciate until one
is a mother. At least this was the case for me.
I mean, as a child I did consider it a bit of an Agatha Christie clue collection process to trying to impress my mom with something that would make her love me more: homemade craft projects or playing an excerpt of a piece the school orchestra had been eee-awwwing through on my cello, and sometimes my sibs and I would shovel together a messy breakfast for her on Her Special Day. But without a clear understanding of the rules it seemed more like the continual mystery than the solving.
My mother's Ultimate Gift Request, no matter when or how often she was asked what she'd like, no matter whether it was a birthday or Christmas or any other gift-giving occasion, was simply "I only want well-behaved children". Oh, sure, easy. I'll just steal some other kids and wash 'em up for you. Apparently she never birthed the well-mannered children she so wanted - which made me wonder how much more she needed from me to hit that invisible
good enough mark. When I began raising my own child I realized what a ridiculous and slightly mean request she had made of my siblings and me. It's one thing to say 'hey you know what? I love you and I think you're perfect and I don't need anything else. Just spend some time with me today and it'll be the best gift ever' and quite another to say something that leaves a kid with the impression that they're not good enough, never good enough no matter how valiant her herculean childlike efforts.
We kids celebrated Mom anyhow. Every year we'd manage to scoop together babysitting money to buy her a cheesy present or we'd collect and vase some flowers we'd picked from her garden. She always seemed pleased; cried frequently at our efforts. I'm still confused by her tears and cannot shake off the feeling that they were present because we weren't good enough kids; that she didn't get the thing she really really wanted.
It was when I became a mother that I finally felt free enough in the relaxed atmosphere I'd created in my own home that I luxuriated in the pleasure of making it a no-fuss holiday. Yeah, so I'm the momma, woo hoo, whatever. Let's make something yummy together and call it a day. I realize now that my son may have a skewed view (and in the opposite direction of what I learned as a kid) of what such holidays are supposed to look like, according to the way I purposely, loosely, halfway celebrate them in our home. If anything, he'll need to step it up some day if/when he has a significant other and I hope for her that she's clear about her expectations and patient while he learns to live up to them.
On the far back right side of our refrigerator still hangs the crayon drawing that J. drew many years back, when my first long-term -and living together- relationship, with L., was at its peak of homeyness. Two women, raising a small boy ... He drew some flowers and wrote 'I love you both! Happy Mothers Day.'
Whatever my mother did or did not do, she did raise five respectful caring and deeply loving children. Yesterday J., KD and I took my mother out for brunch at a favorite diner. J. also burned a CD for me of music he likes to listen to that he thought I would like. I'd asked if he would make me the CD a couple of weeks ago and had not expected to see results for at least a couple more months, and the gift was a lovely surprise.
J. is already well-behaved; I don't expect I'll ever consider asking that from him. What I hope to have is a kid who loves his life, who loves me including most of my wrinkles and faults and who can blamelessly point out when I'm being a dodo, who is gentle with animals and small children, and who knows when to step up without being asked to do it. He's well on his way.
