This coming Sunday is Mothers’ Day, and the white lilacs by my front porch are more than ready. So am I. I’ve always loved Mother’s Day, especially coming on the heels of Easter and May Day, when my sister and I passed out homemade baskets of flowers to all the neighbors. A triptych of floral holidays – what could be more perfect? Daffodils! Lilies-of-the-Valley! Forget-me-nots! Apple blossoms! Bluebells! Lilacs! Cards with crayoned hearts and tulips all over them, surrounding a stick-figure mom.
Despite how much I loved being a daughter with an easy-to love mom, when I found out I was pregnant with my first child, I burst out crying. Should I admit that publicly? I loved my husband, I wanted a family…shouldn’t I have been thrilled?
I guess I was thrilled – kind of. But for me, it was the type of thrill you feel on a roller coaster, with that little voice in your head saying, “What are you doing?????” You get into that little car, the attendant brings the bar down so you don’t fall out, you know it’s going to be a scary ride, you know there’s going to be a long climb up and a terrifying dip down and screaming and laughing and several jerky rounding of corners. And you know that if you are unlucky or unblessed you could fly off the rails at any point – I don’t think it’s possible just to be thrilled by news like that, is it? Besides, I was a wise-cracking, cynical, semi-hippie, barely past my hitchhiking days. Barefoot. Torn jeans. What kind of role model would I be? Oh, there were a million things to worry about, and I worried about them all.
Of course, I came to love being a mom, and I had fun and did pretty well….the proof is in the pudding, as they say. I have three great grown-up kids.
Mother’s Day — such an undeniably justified holiday, no? It’s so basically the right thing to do, celebrating and honoring our mothers. What culture on the face of the planet doesn’t do that? For the Italians, it’s practically operatic.
This year my mother will turn 89; she’s been a mother since my older brother was born in 1945. That’s seventy years ago. A mother for seventy years…that’s a sobering thought, because motherhood isn’t easy. And my mother became a mom while my dad was still serving his tour of duty in WWII. When he came home she proceeded to give him two more kids, both girls, within four years, so she had three kids under five years old when she herself was not quite 23.
My mother is a creative, complicated, generous, hard-working woman with a bright mind and high standards. She was a classroom teacher and a school librarian/reading specialist for all the years we were growing up, and she read aloud to us until we were teenagers. And I read to my kids. And my daughter reads to my grandson.
Last week here at Books Around the Table, Laura Kvasnosky shared thoughts about her new grandson, Emmett. Over the last few weeks, Laura’s daughter has begun experiencing what it feels like to be a mom – the sleep deprivation combined with the giddy joy. Laura talked about the books Emmett will grow up with. Reading aloud together at bedtime is a wonderful way to build memories – the quiet time at night when the busy day sloughs off and stories float out into the dark.
I vividly remember my mom reading The Wind in the Willows to us. This Sunday, May 10th, is not only Mother’s Day, it’s the 108th anniversary of Kenneth Grahame sending his son Alistair a birthday letter in which the characters of Rat, Mole and Toad are first imagined. Thanks, Mr. Grahame for that – you’ve been part of the pleasure of bedtime stories between mothers and kids now for more than a century.
This Mother’s Day, I’m taking my mom a bouquet of lilacs. Then we’re going out to lunch in Bow, Washington, and we’ll head down to Mount Vernon to see Julie Paschkis’s show at the Bitters Co. barn.
A sunny day in the tulip fields of the Skagit Flats. Fun! It’s one way to say thanks to my mom for being a good mother. And for reading to us. And for going on that roller coaster ride of motherhood, hanging on and having fun, even while terrified.
Happy Mother’s Day to everyone this Sunday! If you don’t live close to your mom, give her a call.