Ode to Mothers

I was cleaning out my files on our hard drive when I came across this little souvenir from last Mother's Day. I wrote it because I was feeling so guilty about yelling at my kids on mother's day but then I didn't know what to do with it. Ha! I love blogging. Now I know what to do with all my psychotic musings...anyway, I would wait until mother's day to post it but I have so much more to say this year on mother's day. Anyway, an ode to mothers.

The Sunday before Mother’s Day, I was sitting next to my 7-year old primary class in closing exercises when we were asked to practice a new song. I had never heard this song before but the children were told they quickly needed to learn it since they would be singing next week in sacrament meeting for Mother’s day. The song honored mothers with comparisons to lilac bushes, green earth after rain, and bluebirds singing. The children sang the song with about as much enthusiasm as a death march.
Midway through the massacre, I leaned over to ask a little girl in my class if she had ever heard this song before. She replied that they had sung it once in opening exercises. I asked if she knew what the song was about. She said it was about somebody’s mom but she wasn’t sure whom. It captured the essence regarding some of my complicated feelings regarding Mother’s day. Just whose mother ARE all those songs written about in the Children’s Songbook?
Please don’t misunderstand me. While I applaud a holiday dedicated to pampering and honoring all the mothers of the world, I am ready for a more realistic perspective on the day. Instead of feeling guilty because I don’t fit a single song lyric, poet’s verse, or heart wrenching story, I would like to be applauded because most of the time I am dressed before noon, sometimes I smell clean, and there are even days when the dishes get done. If we sang a song about a mother in yellow pajamas with cereal spilled down her front, my children would know whom the song was about. If we read a poem about a mom who knew how to build a pirate ship, get a spider web to come out of her sleeve, make a paper Spiderman mask out of toilet paper, or build a slide out of couch cushions, my kids could celebrate the fun moments. And if someone would tell a story about a woman, who cherishes alone time in the bathroom and appreciates the family’s sympathy when she breaks out into tears over nothing, I could sit and feel real. I have decided that this Mother’s Day, I’m going to celebrate all the "real" moms out there, the ones who occasionally yell, lose their cool, and have temper tantrums. The moms who aren’t always clean or pretty smelling but are in the trenches making it all happen. The ones who endure long games of make-believe, Wiggles videos, and endless excursions to the park because they know in the end how much those things matter. Being a mom is the most rewarding experience I have ever had. But it also involves more selflessness, sacrifice, and patience than I possess making me far from the perfect mom. The greatest part of the adventure is that when I stop and look at this little monkey on my knee who has the grossest diaper I have ever smelled and is determined to get me to stop typing and play with him, I know I am going to make it because I have the world’s best teachers. By the time they are done with me and waving good-bye from their dorm windows, I may start to get it. They get it and will stick with me until I figure it out. So hooray for all the imperfect moms and the families that love them!