The Rewards of Motherhood

I often write about how hard it is to be a mother.   Recently, one of my best friends warned me of the dangers.   If I keep telling everyone how hard it is, I’m going to scare all the future mamas away. 

The rewards of motherhood are difficult to explain because the job is too complex and nuanced for simple words.  So I’ll just tell the story of a yoga class I went to on Mother’s Day.

Toward the end of the class, the instructor suggested we try a headstand.  With several blank stares from my classmates and me, she reminded us that success was achieved just by trying.  We should avoid comparing ourselves to our neighbor.  We need to let go of perfection or what we think it should look like.  

Now that’s good advice for anyone, especially mamas. 

So I decided to just focus on my own effort and try my best.  I started slowly.  I wobbled and doubted myself.  I cursed through several failed attempts. 

In the midst of this struggle, I could hear my own mom clearer than ever before.  Even with doubt, you are doing it right.  At your own way, at your own speed.   You are making positive progress by taking things inch-by-inch, day-by-day, and year-by-year.  You will only get better through practice and daily failures.  

I wanted to keep trying.  I wanted to spit in the face of fear.  

My legs trembled as they slowly rose over my head.   The process felt messy, wrong, and unnatural.   But I had found a way to do my best. 

Then in those three seconds where my feet remained above my head, I remembered a story that a coworker wrote on a Card at my mother’s funeral: 

“My fondest memory of Joan is when we were in yoga class together and it was time for the headstand!  Joan went right up against the wall and let out such a shriek that people thought she fell over.  We laughed all night over it!”  - L. 

My mother physically and emotionally had done this same headstand.   She had struggled and swore and sweated the small stuff through parenting.  She was brave in the attempt. 

And that’s how I’d sum up the rewards of motherhood, and life in general.   It’s the squeal of delight in knowing that even with your world turned upside down, you can do it.   

The Importance of Aunties

When I got married, I had sixteen bridesmaids in my wedding.  Sixteen.  Not because I wanted a big wedding, but because I had so many best friends from the different stages of my life.   Each of them walked down the aisle representing something beautiful in themselves and the friendships we created. 

These women are now becoming the Aunties to my children. 

I’m following in the steps of my mom.   She kept her best friends in her life by weaving them into the fabric of our extended family.  I grew up with many fantastic Aunts that I didn't realize were not related to me until I was old enough not to care.  In our house, Mom made the rules, but Aunties made the fun.  My kids deserve these kinds of Aunts, and I need these kinds of friends. 

I know these friendships will last because my mom proved it to me.  On the day before Mom died, her best friend from high school came from far away to visit her bedside.  This lifelong ‘Aunt’ then wrote this on The Cards at Mom’s funeral:

“Joan and I always walked each other half way home when we left each others house.  I’ll remember Sunday, January 19th as the last time I walked her half way home.”  - S

I hope to be that kind of friend, no matter the time or distance.   Life will only continue to get more challenging, and there is a long journey ahead.  The best guides will be the lifelong friends that have turned into family.  My children will know them as their Aunts, but they will first be my friends.   

And so I am reminded of the golden rules of friendship and parenting:

1. Cultivate abundant Aunties. 
2. I’m teaching my children about the importance of friendships, even if they aren’t paying attention. 
3. Always walk each other half way home. 

The Turtle Brigade

One of the things that drives me crazy about my five year old daughter is that she’s really slow.  Not slow in mind, but slow in action.  She finds exceptionally clever ways to delay routine tasks like putting on shoes or getting in the car.  You’ll often find me standing at the front door frustrated and shouting, “You’re making us the Turtle Brigade again!” 

One of the deepest sources of my sadness is the inability to ask mom about her years of heavy parenting.  Since I can’t ask her, I usually turn to the stories about mom that other people wrote on index cards at her funeral for wisdom.   I recently flipped through The Cards and found this from a friend: 

“I have many memories from high school at her house waiting for Erica as she finished getting ready to go out.  I never minded – because these were the times I got to have ‘heart-to-hearts’ with Mrs. Neubert.  She always spoke to us as if we were adults and she was one of the kids at the same time.   When it was finally time to leave I always had the un-teenager thought, “I wish Erica’s mom were coming out with us.”   The funny thing is I can vividly remember these chats, but I couldn’t begin to tell you about any of the things we did afterwards.” – R.

Damn it.  Not only did I create the Turtle Brigade, I am the founding member.  Well played, fate. Well played, mom.   

So my lessons are clear:

1.  If you’ve ever waited for me, I’m sorry.  
2. My children are just holding up a mirror.  When I get frustrated with them, I’m really getting frustrated with myself.  
3. The spaces of waiting time are often disguised as the best parts of the conversation.

I just need to be patient.  In about ten years, I get to be that cool mom who almost gets asked to tag along with the teens. 

The Tallest Man in the World?

At Mom’s funeral, we asked guests to write down their favorite memory of her.  These index cards are my favorite source of information about the different sides of mom I didn’t get to know.  To me, she was a brilliant mom.  But to others, she was a co-worker, manager, neighbor, friend, or aunt.  "The Cards" teach me a little about how to be a better human and a better parent.

Many of the stories people shared were not necessarily about what she did, but how she made them feel.   And they typically include stories I’d never heard before, such as this one:

““How could I ever forget going to see the Tallest Man in the World when I was all of about five years old. How unfortunate that he had broken his leg and couldn’t stand up. All we ever saw was the hat on his head. And yet, it’s still one of the most vivid memories of my childhood!” – S. ”

I have no idea what happened this day, other than a special outing between an aunt and her five year old nephew.  Going to see the tallest man in the world who couldn’t stand up sounds very suspicious.  I don’t know if they were at a cheap travelling circus or if she was making a trip to the hospital emergency room seem less scary. 

But this teaches me three things about parenting and personal connections:

1.     I want to lead a life where people write memorable stories about how special I made them feel. 

2.     You can make up fake superlatives about tall people if you are in need of a quick fun event.

3.     You never know when you are making a moment.