My maternal muses
Yes, I’m still alive and kicking, though you wouldn’t know by my recent (lack of) blogular activity. I’ve been working on other writing stuff - don’t you worry - and in the space-time continuum I inhabit there is only so much “extra” time, so the blog gets pushed aside.
Anyway, on to today’s topic.
As most of you know - due to incessant prodding by sellers of gardening wares, clothing, cookware, housewares and spa-type stuff - it’s time to celebrate your momma this Sunday.
This is my third Mother’s Day being a mom myself. Now that I’ve been at this gig for three years, I feel like I can reflect a bit on it all so far.
You all know I think it’s hard work. That being a mom is one of the tallest orders I’ve had to fill in my life. I know every mom feels this way at times, but I truly believe that I feel it more often than others: I do my best, but I’m just not hitting the mark as much as I should - as in, always. A lot of times I look to other moms I know with kids around the same age as my wee ones and I do the stupid thing: compare myself. Never ends well. See previous sentences.
But with Mother’s Day coming up, I got to thinking about some of the other moms in my life that really mean something to me. Forget the ones I don’t know that I still for some unknown reason decide to use as my mothering yard stick for comparison. The ones I do - or did - know really are a lot to live up to. And worth living up to.
Whenever I need a good kick in the pants about anything mothering-related I just turn to my memories of my grandmothers. Now those were some moms. Pure and simple.
I come from crazy-big families. I don’t like using this kind of youngin’ terminology (that’s the “crazy-big” bit), especially in the written form, but it really does apply here. And it probably made you pause, which is good, because you need to, to understand the breadth of my family trees. And yes, both my parents come from Catholic families.
My dad comes from a family of twelve. This means he has nine siblings. This means my grandma had ten kids. This is a lot in my books. In yours, too, I’m willing to wager.
I wasn’t close to my grandma the way some kids and their grandmas are. Every one of my dad’s siblings has at least two kids. This makes for a lot of grandkids for his parents.
I am not saying in any way that the number of grandkids a person has impacts their love for them. It’s just a lot of people is all. There’s no doubt in my mind that my grandma wholeheartedly loved all of her grandkids. I actually had a special arrangement with my grandma that the other grandkids did not, and I consider myself very fortunate to have had it.
I went to school every other day in kindergarten. My grandma looked after me on the other days. I don't have a ton of memories from that time, but the ones I do have are specific and vivid.
I remember that most days when my grandma asked if I had a snack with me that I would tell her no and she would give me something delicious, often some sort of baking she had just done. I think I knew at the time that my grandma knew that I did, indeed, have a snack every day (of course my mom would provide me with one) but that the best grandmas know when a treat won’t hurt. As in, every day.
I remember my grandma trimming my grandpa’s nose hairs while he napped. I remember thinking this was both weird (for others to do) and also completely normal for my grandma to do because that was just how she was. A willing-to-do-anything-for-anyone, kind, gentle soul.
My grandma had a great chuckle and one of the easiest smiles I’ve ever come across. She was such a lovely person. I wish I had known her more, though I have always treasured the different bond we shared from those days all those years ago. I wish I had asked about her life outside of what little I did know. I want to ask about her childhood. Her marriage. Her life as a mother. There was so much incredible fortitude in such a gentle spirit. I want to know how she did it. I want to study her. And I want to hug her.
***
Brace yourself. My mom has even more siblings than my dad. My grandma had thirteen children.
I knew this grandma even less than my other one, and that also makes me sad. I am amazed at the wealth of knowledge and experience that must have resided in that incredible woman. The thought of comparing myself as a mom to my grandma just makes me laugh. Being pregnant for a total of twelve-ish years (there are twins in there). Giving birth to that many children. And then, of course, the really hard part: caring for and raising all those children. Doing all of this, for a number of years, in a 900 square foot house. The hardships she faced. The strength on which she drew. The resilience she harbored.
***
I think some of the best evidence I can point to that my mom is the best mom I could have asked for is that I have honestly never doubted that she is a kind and generous person. I think that may sound like a simple statement, but it is not hyperbole and it is true; therefore, I think it’s a grand statement. And I’m very fortunate to be able to say it.
My mom is safety. She is comfort. She is unfailingly selfless. She is remarkable.
I want to be like my mom for my girls. My mom always has, and still does, make it look easy. To be like this. I know this is who she is, that it’s just her nature, but I also know that it can’t always be easy to be that way. There is so much to just swallow, to absorb. So many times where she just lays herself down for others, especially my brothers and me.
***
So I struggle to be like these women. They’re very, very tough acts to follow. I couldn’t ask for better people to lead my way on this mom journey thing.
I owe it to my girls to be a really good mom - for their own sakes as kids, and so they can one day have something so good and just plain right to aim for.
Wish me luck. I need it.
Anyway, on to today’s topic.
As most of you know - due to incessant prodding by sellers of gardening wares, clothing, cookware, housewares and spa-type stuff - it’s time to celebrate your momma this Sunday.
This is my third Mother’s Day being a mom myself. Now that I’ve been at this gig for three years, I feel like I can reflect a bit on it all so far.
You all know I think it’s hard work. That being a mom is one of the tallest orders I’ve had to fill in my life. I know every mom feels this way at times, but I truly believe that I feel it more often than others: I do my best, but I’m just not hitting the mark as much as I should - as in, always. A lot of times I look to other moms I know with kids around the same age as my wee ones and I do the stupid thing: compare myself. Never ends well. See previous sentences.
But with Mother’s Day coming up, I got to thinking about some of the other moms in my life that really mean something to me. Forget the ones I don’t know that I still for some unknown reason decide to use as my mothering yard stick for comparison. The ones I do - or did - know really are a lot to live up to. And worth living up to.
Whenever I need a good kick in the pants about anything mothering-related I just turn to my memories of my grandmothers. Now those were some moms. Pure and simple.
I come from crazy-big families. I don’t like using this kind of youngin’ terminology (that’s the “crazy-big” bit), especially in the written form, but it really does apply here. And it probably made you pause, which is good, because you need to, to understand the breadth of my family trees. And yes, both my parents come from Catholic families.
My dad comes from a family of twelve. This means he has nine siblings. This means my grandma had ten kids. This is a lot in my books. In yours, too, I’m willing to wager.
I wasn’t close to my grandma the way some kids and their grandmas are. Every one of my dad’s siblings has at least two kids. This makes for a lot of grandkids for his parents.
I am not saying in any way that the number of grandkids a person has impacts their love for them. It’s just a lot of people is all. There’s no doubt in my mind that my grandma wholeheartedly loved all of her grandkids. I actually had a special arrangement with my grandma that the other grandkids did not, and I consider myself very fortunate to have had it.
I went to school every other day in kindergarten. My grandma looked after me on the other days. I don't have a ton of memories from that time, but the ones I do have are specific and vivid.
I remember that most days when my grandma asked if I had a snack with me that I would tell her no and she would give me something delicious, often some sort of baking she had just done. I think I knew at the time that my grandma knew that I did, indeed, have a snack every day (of course my mom would provide me with one) but that the best grandmas know when a treat won’t hurt. As in, every day.
I remember my grandma trimming my grandpa’s nose hairs while he napped. I remember thinking this was both weird (for others to do) and also completely normal for my grandma to do because that was just how she was. A willing-to-do-anything-for-anyone, kind, gentle soul.
My grandma had a great chuckle and one of the easiest smiles I’ve ever come across. She was such a lovely person. I wish I had known her more, though I have always treasured the different bond we shared from those days all those years ago. I wish I had asked about her life outside of what little I did know. I want to ask about her childhood. Her marriage. Her life as a mother. There was so much incredible fortitude in such a gentle spirit. I want to know how she did it. I want to study her. And I want to hug her.
***
Brace yourself. My mom has even more siblings than my dad. My grandma had thirteen children.
I knew this grandma even less than my other one, and that also makes me sad. I am amazed at the wealth of knowledge and experience that must have resided in that incredible woman. The thought of comparing myself as a mom to my grandma just makes me laugh. Being pregnant for a total of twelve-ish years (there are twins in there). Giving birth to that many children. And then, of course, the really hard part: caring for and raising all those children. Doing all of this, for a number of years, in a 900 square foot house. The hardships she faced. The strength on which she drew. The resilience she harbored.
***
I think some of the best evidence I can point to that my mom is the best mom I could have asked for is that I have honestly never doubted that she is a kind and generous person. I think that may sound like a simple statement, but it is not hyperbole and it is true; therefore, I think it’s a grand statement. And I’m very fortunate to be able to say it.
My mom is safety. She is comfort. She is unfailingly selfless. She is remarkable.
I want to be like my mom for my girls. My mom always has, and still does, make it look easy. To be like this. I know this is who she is, that it’s just her nature, but I also know that it can’t always be easy to be that way. There is so much to just swallow, to absorb. So many times where she just lays herself down for others, especially my brothers and me.
***
So I struggle to be like these women. They’re very, very tough acts to follow. I couldn’t ask for better people to lead my way on this mom journey thing.
I owe it to my girls to be a really good mom - for their own sakes as kids, and so they can one day have something so good and just plain right to aim for.
Wish me luck. I need it.
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