You know that feeling that many of us have been addicted to, especially during this past year, when a big delivery truck pulls up and stops right in front of your place. It’s not for your neighbour it’s for you! Your package has arrived! Go claim your prize! That’s the feeling I’m still waiting for on Mother’s Day. Ok, let me explain. For the last some odd years I’ve hosted Mother’s Day for my mother and my two sisters. My younger sister recently became a mother for the first time last year to a very active and adorable baby boy. My older sister has two fiercely intelligent and beautiful daughters. I myself have a son and a daughter (I hope you know at least that much about me by now). I adore celebrating them—and all mothers for that matter—on Mother’s Day, but I don’t feel I’ve earned that prize yet.
It has nothing to do with not loving my children or thinking I’m doing a terrible job (well sometimes the thought crosses my mind when the little one answers back…), it’s more like I feel I haven’t paid my dues yet. For myself, I just don’t know what I should be celebrating. I can recognize all the wonderful mothers who became a parent for the first time, the mothers with multiples, the single mothers kicking ass, the mothers who finally were able to hold their adoptive child for the first time—and all the mothers who are fighting the good fight one tantrum at a time. For me personally, I feel I have a ways to go before I can ‘celebrate’ this great accomplishment. I feel as though I still have an invisible battle to fight before I can be rewarded the medal of honour—where or when the battle will take place is beyond me!
For now, I shall lift my glass up to my mother in particular, who at nine years old was told she no longer could attend school because her father had died suddenly and tragically—a reason I still cannot see good sense in. My mother wanted to become a school teacher, but soon found herself playing a real-life Cinderella—not to a step-mother but to other extended family members with whom she lived with. Her beauty became evident to many suitors who came calling. One in particular caught her eye with the promise of living in a new land and new prospects. So at the tender age of 19 she married her ‘Prince Charming’ and headed thousands of miles across the sea to a foreign land where she did not speak the language or understand the culture—leaving behind her own beloved mother whom she saw only twice after she married, before she too died tragically. In the span of six years she gave birth to three little girls (little ducklings in a row as we were often referred to). She raised us to the best of her ability, often alone as my father worked countless days (and nights) to support us. My mother learned English with the help of my father, mostly, reading the newspaper to her. Today she can easily discuss politics, and many current events. She raised three independent thinkers who went on to achieve multiple university degrees, each in our own respective studies. My mother never did officially become a teacher, however she is seen by many of her friends, nieces and nephews—and even her older sisters—as the person to turn to for a kind word, a shoulder to cry on, and good advice to live by.
Cheers to this selfless and wonderful woman!
(As I read this to her today she became emotional)
As for me, I am proud to be a mother of two caring souls. I shall patiently await for my package from Amazon, my crowning glory—that feeling that I am deserving of such a crown in motherhood. Until then, it’s back to work…waiting for that doorbell to ring.
Happy Mother’s Day!
Thoughts At F___ It Forties 