I have many thoughts to share on this Mothers Day. I think about my children, the few precious beings I hold closer to me than anything or anyone else. The draw of their personalities, a mix of their own traits and things and ideas and some observances that are so clearly me and some that are so clearly Adrian.
Lily who is graceful and charming and intelligent and so put together, who is stronger and tougher and more resilient than most kids. I see her becoming her own person, pulling away from the childhood that was paused by cancer, and growing into that deep old soul she was born with. She will though, when she thinks we aren’t paying attention, when the moments are calm and quiet and boring, will find me and link her arm through mine and lean her head onto my shoulder and curl into her safe space. I’m her safe space, even if its only for a moment. If I acknowledge it she flitters away like a butterfly. So I stay silent, and we are still if only for a few breaths. I could stay forever in that stillness. Of late, she won’t sit as close to me, and there are no goodnight kisses for her since the pandemic has started. She worries that we will bring home the disease to her. She’s had enough of disease to last a lifetime.
Ryan, my precious boy. He is 10, almost 11 and funny and such a smart aleck . He is kind and sweet and blows me air kisses as I walk by. He lays all over my furniture the wrong way, languid and pliable. He tells me he loves me at least a dozen times a day. He’s adventurous and outgoing. He’d always willing to try a new adventure. He my little hot-head with all his emotions on his sleeve for everyone to see. He’s the first one to greet me when I get home from work. He always asks if its safe to hug me or if I can just kiss him on his head if Im not clean. I was thinking about all the seniors who are graduating with all the bells and whistles and traditions and realized that my boy too is missing his. Next year is middle school, and he doesn’t get to say goodbye to elementary school. My poor middle child, but he just goes along with each new bump in the road. As long as we are all together he is happy. I don’t want him to let go of being a little boy just yet but he too will eventually find more companionship in the company of his friends than with me. Thats ok, I want him to grow into his own man too.
My baby, my sassy sweet almost 2 year old. She reminds me of me, Feisty, unkempt, sticky fingers, hair always out of place. Wild for adventure and the excitement of everything outside the house. She’s stubborn and strong willed. She’s cheeky and knows exactly what she wants when she wants it. Her smiles are hard won, but worth it. You can feel genuine joy from her being. I guess that’s why her middle name is Joy. Yesterday, she dragged me outside, raced down the driveway in her bare-feet. She ran along the sidewalk leaving toddler size chalk footprints after running through Lilys artwork. The sun shined a golden halo through her hair as she giggled. Someones sprinklers, or car washing had created a stream in the gutter and she yelled at it and picked up stones and flowers to throw in the rushing stream. Such glee, such sweet innocence, such joy in the everyday things. I know how lucky I am that I get to experience this all again when my big kids are on the cusp of being teenagers.
I wonder what my children will remember of me when they are grown. I hope the good outweighs the negative. Im not perfect, none of us are, but I hope I’m perfect for them. I know I’m tired and done at the end of a day. Any day, whether Im working my nurse job or home with my mom job. I need to find balance in myself, I give and give and give and need time to replenish or I lose myself in the giving of all that I am. They need to know that I strive for the same dreams they do and I have my own joys and sorrows. But when my head wanders too far in the clouds and when my feet want to wander, they ground me for they are the adventure of my soul. Their wanderings and wonderings and strivings settle me down into a routine. They are the best parts of me living outside my body. My children are always the best part of my day, I hope they know that and remember that always.
So today, when we have been home for fifty something days, when we are distanced from our other family. I count my blessings, my joys , the ability to slow down and drink in the joys of motherhood. I’m able to seek solace in the women who came before me, the ones who have showed me the way and made me who I am today. I love you. Happy Mothers’s Day.
Then I think about my own mother, and her mother and her mother before that. I’m an amalgamation of the strong brilliant women who came before me. My own Mother has always maintained a joyful countenance even when life threw her many wrenches. She’s fun and exuberant and loves a party or a trip or an adventure. She made childhood fun when it wasn’t always easy. She believed in me, encouraged me to always strive for my best and to be my own woman who could stand on her own 2 feet. My grandmother has always been a bit of a mischievous handful. She is strong willed and smart and always independent, a true force to be reckoned with, She fostered my joy of reading and love of animals. She took me to Broadway plays and put me in singing and acting classes. She showed me how to bake and to gain a love for it. Then there was my great grandmother and the stories she would tell. Life was not easy for her but she always made the best of it. When I think of her, I am reminded to slow down, too not waste things or time. It reminds me that it’s ok to be a little old fashioned, to slow down and smell the roses.