Since I wrote a post on my Father yesterday I thought it'd be nice to include a piece I wrote for our May issue on Mothers Day.
Mothers day, like other holidays ending in “day,” may be written off as Hallmark holidays, corporate propaganda guilting impressionable sons, daughters, lovers, friends and family into buying overpriced cards, candy and flowers.
Terrible, right? Celebrating someone you love. Everyday is Mothers day, why do I need to go out of my way on this particular day?
Why? Because everyday is not Mothers Day. It’s not human nature to celebrate those people who matter most every moment of every day – and if we did – it might be sort of weird?
Flowers are nice, candy is delicious and a thoughtful card is always worth a smile. But if we got them all the time? Well it’d be routine. A card would be as cumbersome as a bill, flowers as pleasant as a receipt and candy – well candy everyday would make you fat.
Once we take the politics and conspiracy theories out of this one-day, we can get back to what it is. Just a day, one specific day, where we can celebrate Mothers, whether it be your own, your children or yourself. How you celebrate is up to you not Hallmark. On this day, more than any other, it is simply the thought – the recognition – that counts.
Anyone who has been a daughter or a Mother of one can attest to the fact that these relationships are inevitably and uniquely complicated.
I still remember one day realizing that this Mommy of mine, she was just a human, an imperfect mortal person just like me. She made mistakes, said things she regretted and sometimes she was even wrong. It was a peculiar childhood revelation. Parents are human? Like, they have to do time out too?
When I became a teenager “Mommy” became “Mom!” and the above realization became the fuel I’d add to every fight. Coming home past curfew became an opportunity to remind her that she smoked cigarettes.
When I got a ticket for speeding I simply pointed how she got one 2 weeks prior. Getting caught ditching school was my chance to remind her that she cursed a lot.
And then there is the moment where you realize that you’re not perfect either. And you mess up big time and the one person who is there to hold you, love you and tell you it’s all OK is the same person whose imperfections you’ve been so caught up with.
So maybe Mothers are just imperfect humans and while I can’t speak for everyone I can speak for my own: unconditionally loving, whole-heartedly accepting, forever forgiving and without question supportive. As flawed a human as I, but as a Mother, my Mother, she is flawless.
