Happy Mother's Day!

This was originally published in The News Tribune, April 1996. I think it still rings true.

         I never truly appreciated my mother until I became one. I loved her unconditionally and put her up on an unearthly pedestal as only a young child is capable of doing, but my perception of her was one-sided. Now that I’m a mom, I’m discovering another dimension of my mother and struggling with so many of the things she made look easy.

Mom and me (3 years old?) by a castle in Germany.

        Motherhood is unbelievably complex. You take care of your child physically, keeping them safe and clean, feeding them, nursing them through sicknesses, teaching them how to get dressed, climb stairs, ride bikes, and so much more. You stimulate them intellectually and worry about their reading, ‘riting, and ‘rithmetic skills. You tune in to their emotions and try to help them learn to control, but not stifle their emotions. You teach them social skills, so they’ll get along in the world, be able to love and be loved. You do all this for the reason all mothers do it, so that your children can not only survive without you, but thrive without you, and be happy. The list of things you want for them has no end.

        Throughout all these preparations for life, there’s an incredible bond between mother and child. The bonding part was simple and natural for me, but letting go, gracefully, is a challenge. Part of the problem is that letting go and bonding happen simultaneously. While your love deepens, you’re supposed to be letting go, but not too much, and not too soon. It’s an ongoing process, two steps forward, two steps back. Children crawl, walk, and run, but still need you to set the limits. While they’re mastering all these milestones, it’s mom’s job to encourage and cheer them on, without showing that at the same time she has a twinge of longing for the days when they weren’t so independent.

         It’s a hard balance to strike, made even harder because the child is also wrestling with the holding on/letting go dilemma. For my son Johnny’s first month of kindergarten, putting him on the bus was heart-wrenching. He’d stand in line with his dinosaur backpack, eager to go to school. The huge, yellow bus would pull up and the line of kids would start across the street. Johnny would march along with them until he was halfway there. Then he’d turn around, run back to me crying, and hug me fiercely. I’d softly reassure him, “You’ll be just fine! Have fun at school!” and send him back when I didn’t want to. He looked so small sitting up in the bus window waving, and trying bravely to fight back tears. I’d paste on a cheerful face and wave until he was out of sight, then through blurry eyes take a deep breath before consoling Sarah and myself that her brother would be back for lunch. Letting go isn’t easy.

First day of school for Johnny (8) and Sarah (5).

      When I was a kid, I thought my parents had total control over us. Now that I’m a parent, I realize that most of their control (and now my control) amounted to creating the illusion that they had control. I learned quickly that it’s impossible to make a child eat, or sleep, or potty train unless they’re ready and want to.  Demanding doesn’t work nearly as well as coaxing. Being a good mom means knowing when to pull and when to push, when to hug and when to scold, when to listen instead of talk, when to ignore behavior that’s driving you crazy, when to lay it on the line, and when to bluff because you don’t have a clue. The punch line is that you will never know whether you did the right thing. There will always be a little doubt whispering in your ear.

        When I was sixteen, I fell in love and got my heart broken for the first time. Afterward, I moped around for weeks wallowing in the pain. My mother, undoubtedly tired of my self-pity, finally set me straight one night while I washed dishes. “You better pull yourself together. Get used to this, you’re going to have lots more boyfriends and I hate to tell you, but this is going to happen over and over. It’s not the end of the world.”

         In my infinite teenaged wisdom I snapped at her, “It’s NOT EVER going to happen again because I’m NEVER falling in love again!” and bolted from the kitchen leaving mom with a sink full of dirty dishes.

         Of course, she was right. By my mid-twenties my heart had been broken so many times I was sure that a “Kick Me” sign was pinned to it.  After each stormy break up, my mother’s observation about recurring heartbreaks echoed in my mind. How did she know? Even after I was happily married, I was still a little appalled that she’d been so uncharacteristically blunt and unsympathetic.

         Last month, my four-year-old daughter’s best friend moved. It wasn’t an abrupt surprise. Her family’s house had been for sale for nine months. Sarah saw them packing up boxes and moving furniture. But the meaning didn’t really hit her until we were at the playground one day and she asked if we could walk over and pick up Jennifer to play like we always had. I reminded her that Jennifer didn’t live in our neighborhood anymore. Her face crumbled as she broke down into hard, deep sobs. My heart ached along with hers as I held her close and tried to rock her sorrow away as if she were a baby again. After forty-five minutes, she calmed down a little. I wiped her tears away and told her, “You know what? Jennifer taught you how to be a good friend. You’ll make new friends, and love them too.”

         She pushed me away, and shot back, “I will NOT! Jennifer’s my ONLY friend, forever!” The floodgates re-opened and as hard as she had just pushed me away, she burrowed back into my chest. I thought of my mother, and smiled, and silently acknowledged how resilient our hearts really are. Thanks Mom, Happy Mother’s Day!

                

Mother's Day 2012, Bellevue, WA.

Sarah is 20 years old now and has made many new friends since her first friend, Jennifer. Johnny is 23 and has no problem getting in his car and going to work in the morning other than wanting to sleep in. My mother celebrated Mother’s Day surrounded by family and phone calls from two of her kids. I had a great Mother’s Day with John, my grownup kids and their friends. I can be reached at stark.laura.k@gmail.com.