the mother load

As I find myself here, on a Thursday night in 82 degree heat, the dirty dishes strewn about the kitchen as if recently rampaged, shoes well within tripping distance in the hall, a garage full of items to be priced for a sale in two days, and a blog to be written tonight, I think of what my mom would say to me at a time like this. The same words she'd said when I was in college and freaking out over my exams, or in California, eight months pregnant crying over having to pack up all our things for a move across town. She'd say, "Hey, what's the worst that can happen?" To which I'd calmly reply, "I fail all my classes and have to move back home," "I have the baby mid-move and have no home," or "I have a messy house and a garage sale with unpriced items." And to that she'd reply, "But you'll survive, and I'll still love you." Somehow, that has always been enough for me.

In her book Motherhood & Hollywood, Patricia Heaton wrote about how her mother died when she was a child. And though I can't remember her exact words, I remember her writing that there's a certain sadness in people who lose their moms too young, which gets carried with them throughout life. Without in any way belittling or undermining the importance of a father, there is just something about a mom, no? Whether we share their DNA, or just their home for 18 or so years, the mother-child relationship is a deeply pivotal one.

Motherhood is a life-long expedition. I've said this before, but the hardest thing for me about becoming a mother was the realization (about a week in) that I would never be the same again. I would never be as carefree and independent again, and there were times when the weight of the love and responsibility I felt towards Kate shocked me. I always wanted to have kids (two, to be precise) but I didn't necessarily dream of being a mom. Does that make sense? I just knew that if I couldn't experience it, it would be a big source of regret or grief for me.

I had Kate Jayne two days after Mothers Day 2005, and while she was perfect, I thought I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. (Thankfully that intense feeling of buyers remorse went away when I started sleeping more.) I enjoyed my kids' very young years, but I didn't love every minute of it. I remember when we first moved to Michigan, I didn't have any friends, I was pregnant, and I wasn't working, so I'd follow little one-and-a-half year old Kate around the backyard and watch her pick up stones and talk into them as they were a phone. And I thought, "This is no way to live." No offense to Kate or anything, but it was dull. I feel a twinge of guilt saying this, because I wish I'd loved those years like some people do, but they were difficult for me. To go from being with adults all day to hanging out with a small child was a shock to my system. And yet, when I look back on it, being home with my girls for those years is the thing I'm most proud to have done.

I think we learn motherhood from our own moms. (In fact, now my kids say I'm sounding more and more like "Gran"...I've taken to the color gold, and if people don't ask for seconds, I look askance at them and say, "What, you don't like my food?") My mom is an interesting lady. She is small, yet determined. Rather cynical, yet funny. Strong, yet soft spoken. When I say something, I never know if she'll respond with "Oh, my precious baby!" or "Ught, you are so dramatic!" (Like when she called after 9:30 pm and I answered the phone saying, "What happened to Dad?") They say that the sound of a mother's voice is the most calming thing for a baby, and I wonder when that ends. I do not cry often, but after Elia was born, I was fine until my mom came into the room at which point I burst out crying. Her voice still calms, as does the smell of coffee and talk radio (though I'm 100% sure we're not listening to the same station anymore). She was the only person I called when the norovirus was going through our home and it finally landed on me. She came to help and then she got it, for which I still feel badly, but what could I do? Maybe because of this, I thought it was normal that I sleep with my kids when they're sick (so I can catch their throw-up). You know, unconditional love. (Though if my kids start to cough on me I will send them into isolation downstairs.)

My mom would say that she'd throw herself in front of a bus for us. I guess I've been assuming the bus was about to hit us in this scenario, but in retrospect that's not entirely clear. I used to say to my mom, "The Nazi's are at the door, you have to chose me or Josh to give up!" and she'd say she couldn't choose and she'd give herself up. I'd say in increased urgency, "Well that's not an option, then they'll take us both!" Until she'd say, "Fine, Josh." And I'd slowly smile...then tell Josh. (He was always fine with it.) Ah, the fun we used to have.

My mom taught me how to work hard. She stayed home for a few years when we were young, but ever since I can remember she's been a teacher. She worked full time as I grew up, and for a period of time, she taught 3 grades, was the school principal, and served as a deacon at our church. Because we (subconsciously) pride ourselves on being so tough, we don't take kindly to wimps. You'd best either be throwing up or have a fever to stay home from work or school. (And I'll know, because I'll be lying next to you with a bucket.)

My mom taught me how to be independent. She lived in a different country than her parents for most of her adult life. I think one of the biggest gifts she gave me was not pressuring me to fulfill her in any way. When I told her I was going to move to California to be closer to my boyfriend, she never once asked me not to go. And when her only grandchild was 3200 miles away, she didn't make me feel guilty. I think it must be difficult as a mom (or, as a person in general) to not give unsolicited advice, and my mom has only once, that I can remember, given me advice and that was to nurse as long as I could because it's good for the baby. Oh, and not to "ruin it" with Greg (because she really liked him and wanted us to get married). That's it! Even if I can tell that she's not crazy about something, she doesn't come out and say it--and I think that is fan-freakin'tastic!

My mom taught me how to be hospitable. I learned how to make conversation by watching her--she would ask a lot of questions and actually listen well when people talked. (What was that? My family says I'm not a good listener. Whatever.) She kept our home organized and clean, and welcomed overnight or dinner guests. She made people feel comfortable.

My mom taught me the importance of friends. One of my mom's best friends was her co-worker (and my teacher), and I remember them talking after school regularly. I enjoyed seeing my parents with their college/post college/post-post college friends through the years and I grew up with the knowledge that you never have to lose your friends even if they live far away.

My mom taught me how to be a wife. I don't remember my mom ever undercutting or belittling my dad. I mean, she called him "El Cheapo" once, but we all laughed about that, because it's kinda true. One of my favorite things was to sit in the back of the car (on a drive somewhere) and listen to my parents talk about different things. Even if my mom was frustrated with something, there is no better sound than that of your parents' voices. They taught me that spouses can be good friends.

My mom taught me how to be a mother. My brother and I are oddly confident people (like undeservedly so) and I think my mom is to blame. It's not that she told us we were good at everything, it's that she encouraged us in what we tried. She told me I was beautiful and smart, and I of course, believed her as I had no reason not to. In thinking back, I see that my mom must have spoken all the love languages before it was en vogue. No wonder we're confident, she had all her bases covered.

So, there you have it. I have the perfect mom! No, I think she'd be the first to admit she's not perfect. (Would you, Mom?) Thankfully you don't have to have the perfect mom or to be the perfect mom for everyone to turn out relatively well adjusted. (At least that's what I'm banking on for my kids!) But I'm super

thankful for my mom, and for my mother-in-law, who did such a bang-up job raising Greg, and the mothers of my future son-in-laws, and all the moms out there working tirelessly (with no paid vacation time) to raise the little souls of tomorrow. What a daunting task you've been gifted! The good news is, half of the job is just showing up. The bad news is, the other half is a crap-shoot. And with this nugget of wisdom, I wish you all a very happy, belated Mother's Day!