On Mother's Day

Mother's Day as a mother drives me batty. I feel bombarded by ads depicting children hugging their mother as she pulls dinner from the oven, or a husband buying his wife a pair of diamond earrings for Mother's Day, because as the woman who is raising his children, she deserves a better present than just an old mop.

Doing chores is not part of motherhood. Cooking dinner is not part of motherhood. I resent SO BADLY that domestic skills are constantly included in the list of things required to be a good mother.

Efficiently removing stains from your daughter's favorite skirt makes you a potentially good custodian, not a good mother.

The fact is that motherhood requires so much more than choosing the right macaroni and cheese brand for your kid. We as moms have tons of dirty work to do: potty-training, chasing your child wildly to beat her to the dog food, holding sick children through the night and still pulling an all-day shift.

But how about stripping motherhood down to its basic elements? Because any idiot can clean up shit and play blocks for six hours with a cherub in a onesie. Motherhood doesn't require insane knowledge of breast pumps or an ability to cook, clean, and please a man while holding a toddler in the other arm. Motherhood does require patience, compassion, foresight, flexibility, and basic physical strength.

Motherhood is absolutely a sacrifice. I don't care how much you love your child--after the two thousandth diaper change, her shit is no longer adorable, it's just gross. When she refuses to wear a barrette in her hair, no matter how cute her face is, you will want to leave and go find some other child who will excitedly let you clip flowers to her head. It's hard. Motherhood is hard.

But it is a choice. Some days I choose to be Super-Mom, and I track Finley's every bite, every pee, and every week of sleep with the detailed analysis of a marine biologist researching a school of fish. Some days, though, and this makes me shudder to admit it, I knowingly ignore my daughter to get other things done. When I say ignore, I don't mean she's screaming with her shin bone sticking through her skin while I blog-stalk. I mean she'll meander around the house, bored and on the tear, and I let her fret.

I learned this technique of mothering from my own mother, and it's called "be a good person first, and then you'll be a good mother." I love my own mother. I love how she raised me.

Thanks to my mommy for being a good mommy. Thanks to Finley for making me a mommy. Thanks to mommies everywhere who make the choice, every day, to remain as mothers.

I do have an especially good present for my mom, but here's a second one. It's a little bold, but here I go. Mom, it's now been almost ten years since you lost both your parents. We used to see your sisters every week--I have such vivid memories of my baby cousins, of Annie at Incredible Universe, of Carla on Thanksgiving.

I understand how difficult it would be to keep a family together without the parental units there to preside. I'm telling you, Mom, that I will do whatever I have to to make sure my siblings and I see each other on a regular, very often basis regardless of whether you and Dad are there to encourage it or not. I promise to keep us all together, always.

I'm still a new mom. I have posted here links to my greatest (and worst) moments of mothering so far. Enjoy, and everyone call your mom and tell her thank you for choosing to keep you instead of sailing you down the river in a Moses basket.

The Good

The Bad

The Ugly

The Beginning

The End

The Fat

The Labor

The Sublime