On the morning of Mother's Day, I sleep in. When I get up, I start walking around the room, opening shades, etc., and at some point I hear Zach call up the stairs, "Get back into bed!" because, of course, breakfast in bed would not be if I were not in bed. Now that the kids are older, Zach can send them upstairs to do the dirty work. So this morning, as I was puttering around, I heard footsteps come running up the stairs and before I knew it, a cold, clammy hand was gripping my left arm.
"Get back into bed!" Alexander chirped.
"Isn't there something else you'd like to say to me first?" I asked.
He folded his arms across his chest, undeterred. "I am NOT leaving until you get back into bed!"
So it's not just a matter of making the perfect Mother's day breakfast so much as being in control, I think. :) I obliged and climbed back into bed, and waited. And waited. Let me tell you, the service is cute, but boy is it SLOW! After about 15 minutes, Alexander returned with a large towel in his hand and tossed it onto the bed in front of me. "This is going to be messy," he proclaimed and began to spread it out in front of me.
Messy. If there were any word to describe motherhood next to "love," I don't think there is a more obvious choice that could possibly be more fitting than that. Motherhood is so many kinds of messy that there should be sub-categories of the word to describe it.
When you give birth and are the proud new owner of a newborn, MESSY is where it's at. In between trying to keep your ahead above water in a sea of sleep deprivation and trying not to completely ignore your partner, there's a whole lotta messy going on. The baby vomit adorning your new shirt, pants and hair. The poopy diaper changes (and, if you have a boy, the pee too). The baby toys that multiply overnight. If you're like me, you practically forget you even have furniture at all, judging by the dust on top of it. It's all a big mess.
But that's just the physical aspect of it. When you have a child, the emotions become messy, too. I remember feeding Colette in the middle of the night in the hospital, and I started crying. The nurse poked her head in and asked me if I was ok. "Yes," I blubbered, "just happy!" Hormones are a mess. The overwhelming sense of love for the new child is fighting feelings of being overwhelmed, uncertainty about your new role as a parent, and terror about the health and safety of this new little being whose life you have been entrusted.
My first Mother's Day, 2005.
As they grow and new experiences begin to emerge, emotions can go awry. Every "first" is cause for celebration and can begin the emotional roller coaster all over again, depending on what kind of mom you are. ;) When our dog Lily died, Alexander was 4 1/2 years old. I remember how Zach and I dreaded telling Alexander. I wanted to wait a couple of days until I felt stable enough myself to break the news. We sat down with him and explained how Lily had been sick, and that when she went to the animal hospital, she had to stay and died there. We watched his face closely and braced ourselves. There was a pause. "Can we get a new dog?" was the first thing out of his mouth. We looked at each other, unsure as to whether we should laugh or cry, and assured him that, yes, after some time had gone by, we would get another dog one day. Some more discussion as to whether he had any questions and was ok, and that was that.
The next day, while Colette was napping, I was in the bathroom with Alexander. (I spent a lot of time with him there at that age.) I was sitting on a stool while he sat on the potty, probably reading him a book, when suddenly he asked me, "Do you miss Lily?"
I was so unprepared for that question, I just sat in shock for a moment wondering how to answer. I steadied my voice as best I could, looked into his eyes with my own teary ones and admitted, "Yes."
When he saw the tears in my eyes, that was it. It was if I had told him, without words, that it was ok to let it out. He started crying, and seeing him like that made it impossible for me to hold it in as well. So there we were, hugging each other in the bathroom, crying over our deceased dog together. I don't know how long we were in there like that but I remember it felt like forever. Eventually I got him washed up and carried him into the family room, where I laid him on the couch with a blanket and asked him if he wanted to watch a movie. I had to get the crying to stop for both of us. We got a break then, but the sadness continued over the next few days. I got a book out of the library that was about dog heaven, and he asked me to read it over... and over... and over again.
Lily and her new baby brother.
When the kids start making friends and going to school, it takes on a whole new level. As most mothers, I'm sure, I'm overprotective of my kids and worry about them constantly. I worry more about Alexander than Colette, because, while she is nearly 3 years younger than he, she is more socially advanced and makes friends more easily. A couple of weeks ago, I went to the school to attend Colette's kindergarten class's "math games." I arrived shortly before noon, and after signing in at the front desk, it occurred to me that this was a time I hadn't previously been at the school and wondered if Alexander might be having lunch. I moved aside a bit and looked into the all-purpose room, which was bustling with kids eating lunch. I saw a packed table of kids eating right up against the far window, and suddenly, at the table directly across from it, closer to the doorway near where I was standing, I saw Alexander. He saw me and began waving. I smiled and suddenly, my smile began to fade and my heart dropped into the pit of my stomach. It appeared that Alexander was eating by himself at a huge lunch table. My heart started pounding. Knowing that I most likely was not allowed near the lunchroom, I walked down the short hallway next to the school store to get a closer look anyway. Once I stood outside the double doors, I saw that he was in fact sitting with his friend Daliah. Then I saw another kid at the end of the same table - sitting alone, I think? - and while I took this all in, a voice called out to me, "Hi!" I looked over and saw one of Alexander's classmates who had attended his birthday party waving to me, and I smiled and waved back. That table was fairly empty too. In fact, it turned out that all of the kids were sitting in small groups of only 2 or 3. (I found out later that the two tables were so empty due to the fact that it was Take Your Child to Work Day.) But in that one moment, when I saw my son's face, I had tunnel vision and saw NO ONE else around, just him, and immediately felt terrified that he was eating alone. Once I realized that all was ok, I relaxed a little, and of course the front desk receptionist came over to tell me that I had to come back to the waiting area. "I'm sorry," I said feebly, "I was just waving to my son..." and kind of left it at that, because in that moment, I had no idea how to tell this woman how I nearly had a panic attack just because I thought my child was eating lunch by himself. I did, however, quickly relay the story to an acquaintance I ran into in the waiting area, and she quickly assured me that "boys are different from girls," and that her son eats lunch alone all the time and didn't mind at all.
I still can't think of that day without remembering how my stomach tightened up in knots and I very nearly cried right there in the lobby of the school, standing motionless with a frozen smile on my face, while my son waved excitedly as he spotted me there. I relayed the story to Zach later and told him that I think I'm too sensitive to have kids. "Too late for that," he quipped. But it's true; I am. See? I am a MESS! And I know that there will be more of the same in the years to come... how I am going to handle that... I honestly don't know.
So not only do I face the spilled pot of dirt on the family room rug, the one that one child is using to plant a dandelion, the permanent marker streak on my fabric blinds in the same room, the chocolate milk that spilled on the play table, the watercolor paints that were left out to dry and their evidence wiped on my good towel in the bathroom, but I also face the emotional messes of a Mother's Day tea complete with songs and readings, learning that my son has received a science award, my daughter dancing in her recital, and even the seemingly mundane like watching my children walk into school in the mornings, dragging a big backpack that is almost as big as my daughter is, taking those few steps up the walkway and disappearing into the darkness of the inside of the elementary school where I have no choice but to trust that my children will be safe and well-taken care of. Maybe by this point, a sunny day in the middle of May when the school year is coming to a close, most people don't even give it a second thought anymore... but I do. After we hug, say goodbye and I love you, I still get the tiniest lump in my throat watching them walk into the school like big kids who are getting bigger every day.
My most recent Mother's Day.
And, still, in spite of the innumerable messes that it holds, motherhood is always amazing, never boring, and boasting its own holiday that's more important than any of the others. So, yes, this Mother's Day was messy, in the truest sense of the word: a platter of blue-tinted Cool Whip was the backdrop for a solar system created from fruit. A sun with flames crafted from cut-up pineapple and strawberries, an Earth shaped from blueberries and kiwis, the rest of the planets and an asteroid belt artfully created from assorted fruits, and even poor old Pluto given a place of honor with one tiny blueberry. It was a thing of beauty. (It was also a good thing I put away the good white towel that Alexander had chosen as my placemat in favor of an old navy blue one.)
So, why a fruity solar system breakfast? "Because," Zach led them on, and they all finished in unison, "you are the best mom in the UNIVERSE!" I hope that's true, but if it is, it's because they make me so. After all, they are my whole world.
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