There's no manual.
I'm hiding. Ok, maybe I'm not hiding, maybe I just didn't tell anyone where I am. I've sucked down half a cup of coffee and have moved onto something with bubbles and orange juice because it's Mother's Day. Two of our kids have a cough that rivals that of a 70 year old chain smoker. One of those two is licking snot off of her own face. And then the third kid is upstairs in bed with the second migraine in a week. The first one landed us in the ER last weekend. Not this one. Not today. Not on Mother's Day.
Mother's Day. It's a strange day. On one hand you want to celebrate it by sharing it with the people who made you a mother. On the other, you want to run away and hide in a hotel, maybe on a beach, definitely without the ones who made you a mother (but I swear I love you). See, those people who made me a mother? I share every single day with them. There are no days off. I have not peed alone in 8 years. There is no break. Mothers think about their kids all of the time. Every waking and most sleeping hours. This phase of motherhood is hard. It is exhausting and it is magic and some days I want to (read: do) scream and some days I have such peace in my heart knowing we are doing most of this right (or at least I hope we are... I did get busted by my 8 year old last night for telling a fib to get us back into a stadium after we had already left. I'll answer for that today I'm sure).
My point is, you don't know. There is no manual for this journey. You hope you are making the right choices, helping your kids become their own people. People who are compassionate and kind and caring but who can still stand up for themselves and put their foot down and say NO.
My Mom didn't know, anymore than I do now, whether she was doing it right. She didn't know how we would 'turn out'. Whether sugary cereal would rot our brains or if Paula Abdul was sending the wrong message. But what my Mom did was bust her ass. She not only owned an amazing career where her work continues to this day to make a difference for young people across the country, but she probably didn't pee alone either. She was a multitasking master. Driving carpool (with custom carpool music on a cassette tape, Gloria anyone?), and traveling for work (leaving behind countdowns to when she would return and the book My Mom Travels A Lot). Handling life's challenges (in our case, scoliosis) by researching (in a library, with actual books, before the internet) to find my Dad and I the best care and the best doctors and the best treatment with the fiery passion required to make sure neither of us was treated like 'just another spine'. This is a woman who did it all. And I don't know how. I really don't.
And now... she's fighting. So fucking hard. And it sucks. But I am so grateful she is. Because even though I won't get to hug her today, I will get to talk to her. And tell her I love her. And thank her for being her. And for sacrificing bathroom privacy, her waistline, and basically every other thing... to raise two compassionate, kind and caring people (if I don't say so myself) who can stand up for themselves and say NO.
I'm forever grateful. Forever.
Mother's Day. It's a strange day. On one hand you want to celebrate it by sharing it with the people who made you a mother. On the other, you want to run away and hide in a hotel, maybe on a beach, definitely without the ones who made you a mother (but I swear I love you). See, those people who made me a mother? I share every single day with them. There are no days off. I have not peed alone in 8 years. There is no break. Mothers think about their kids all of the time. Every waking and most sleeping hours. This phase of motherhood is hard. It is exhausting and it is magic and some days I want to (read: do) scream and some days I have such peace in my heart knowing we are doing most of this right (or at least I hope we are... I did get busted by my 8 year old last night for telling a fib to get us back into a stadium after we had already left. I'll answer for that today I'm sure).
My point is, you don't know. There is no manual for this journey. You hope you are making the right choices, helping your kids become their own people. People who are compassionate and kind and caring but who can still stand up for themselves and put their foot down and say NO.
My Mom didn't know, anymore than I do now, whether she was doing it right. She didn't know how we would 'turn out'. Whether sugary cereal would rot our brains or if Paula Abdul was sending the wrong message. But what my Mom did was bust her ass. She not only owned an amazing career where her work continues to this day to make a difference for young people across the country, but she probably didn't pee alone either. She was a multitasking master. Driving carpool (with custom carpool music on a cassette tape, Gloria anyone?), and traveling for work (leaving behind countdowns to when she would return and the book My Mom Travels A Lot). Handling life's challenges (in our case, scoliosis) by researching (in a library, with actual books, before the internet) to find my Dad and I the best care and the best doctors and the best treatment with the fiery passion required to make sure neither of us was treated like 'just another spine'. This is a woman who did it all. And I don't know how. I really don't.
And now... she's fighting. So fucking hard. And it sucks. But I am so grateful she is. Because even though I won't get to hug her today, I will get to talk to her. And tell her I love her. And thank her for being her. And for sacrificing bathroom privacy, her waistline, and basically every other thing... to raise two compassionate, kind and caring people (if I don't say so myself) who can stand up for themselves and say NO.
I'm forever grateful. Forever.
With lots of luck and the incredible love and support of your Dad! And a posse of friends... I am so awed, still. A tip: Cry in the shower.. it works.
ReplyDeleteHappy Mothers Day Corey! You do a damn good job ... we all do! xo
ReplyDeleteAnother wonderful story of the busy bests life...and how you are doing right by them. And another wonderful tribute to your mother. Just the sound of her voice can bring you calm. A strong woman raised a strong daughter - and you will raise 2. You forgot to mention you don't get to sleep either.
ReplyDeleteAs I have often said, your father was my co-captain.. and I had a squad of great women friends.. plus a lot of luck. That, and learning to cry in the shower, as needed. So much love, and even more.
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