Parenthood

Mother’s Day

Jeanna GLeave a comment

I hope you have a great day! You deserve it. You should relax. You should be celebrated! Put your feet up. Go to brunch! Get pampered! Oh, and try not to think about all the crap you have to do.

Know what I did today for Mother’s Day? I cleaned my house. And it made me so happy.

When I was a kid, on Mother’s Day, I decided to “do my mom a favor” and make her breakfast in bed. I put Cheerios and milk in a bowl, set it on a tray, and carried it upstairs to her bedroom. The door was shut, so I had to set the tray down in order to open the door. But little did I know that one leg of the tray was not locked open, so when I set it down, the bowl of Cheerios promptly spilled all over the hallway rug. Don’t cry over spilled milk? I guarantee you a mom is not who coined that phrase. I cried…a lot. But I cried because I was a kid and I had limited options when it came to gift-giving, and my one gift was ruined. Thinking back on it, I still cry, but now I cry for my mom. My poor mom. I mean, it’s not like I cleaned up the Cheerios. Cook, clean, repeat.

Now that I’m a mom, the greatest gift I could ask for on Mother’s Day (or any day) is a clean house. I wish for every to-do list to be checked off. I wish for no one to ask me to do anything or go anywhere. Just let me clean, so that tomorrow, when it’s ‘not’ Mother’s Day, I have one less thing to do.

*Clang* *Splash*

“What was that?”

“Mommmm. I just spilled my juice all over the table and now it’s dripping on the floor.”

Hi Mom!

Jeanna GLeave a comment

Every time an award is received, or a game is won, and the winner yells into the camera, “Hi Mom!,” I smile. How great is it that moms are the first to be considered when a child does something well. How great that moms are loved so much, and credited with so much, that they get the first shout-out.

Mom. The first to take care of me, the first to teach me how to take care of myself, and the first to teach me how to care for others. Also the first to prove how much work it all takes.

Mom was always working. She had a full-time, 9-5 job, and then a part-time job in the evenings or on weekends. And they weren’t careers that she was passionate about, but jobs that benefitted her kids in more ways than just bringing in a paycheck to keep us fed and to put clothes on our backs. She ran a daycare out of our house so she could be home with us, and she worked as a secretary at the Y so we could get free camp enrollment, and she worked at a university to get us discounts on tuition. And despite all the jobs, she was always home in the morning, putting breakfast on the table and getting us on the bus, and then cheering us on from the sidelines, and driving us to and from our extra-curriculars in the afternoons and on weekends. How did she fit everything in? And when did she ever do anything for herself?

Being a mom, myself now, I’ve figured out the answer to those questions. She fit everything in because she was powered by love and sheer will. And what she did for herself was to grow us into capable adults who don’t need her anymore. But that right there is a Catch-22, because, as she told me, “The greatest achievement as a mom is to have kids who grow up and don’t need you anymore, but it’s also the worst thing that can happen to a mom.” So now she has all the time in the world to do what she wants for herself, but I really think she’d rather still be mom-ing us.

But mom, please know, on Mother’s Day and every day, that even though we can figure things out on our own, we still need you. We need to know we can come home, show you all the great things we’ve done, get a hug, and then hear you say “Be careful” as we head back out.

We also need to know we can come home, tell you about all the dumb things we’ve done, still get a hug, and then hear you say “Be careful” as we head back out.

So don’t worry, mom, whether we’re winning or losing, you’ll still get the first shout-out. Thanks for the love.

Don’t Tell Mom!

Jeanna GLeave a comment

Growing up in a full house meant chaos and mayhem more often than not. Things would get broken: dishes, toys, and body parts. Things would get hidden: those things we broke, bad grades, and beer. Things would get lost: pets and children. Things would get faked: innocence and parent signatures. But no matter what happened, someone would yell, “Don’t tell mom!”

With so many kids, there was usually a witness, which therefore led to some leverage, blackmail, or payback. But sometimes you were lucky enough to do something stupid without anyone watching.

I think I was somewhere around 7 or 8 years old when I decided to pick up my brother’s BB gun. (Also embedded here is a good lesson in gun safety.) I had seen my brothers shooting at a paper target out in the yard that was secured to a blanket which was draped over some wood. They carried it into the shed, and left it there…with the gun. The loaded gun. The loaded gun with the safety off. I knew better than to look down the barrel, at least. So I made the swift decision to pick up the gun, aim it at the target that was a mere six feet in front of me, and shoot off a round. As soon as my finger flexed I had the following senses: I heard the BB hit the target, I felt the BB fly through the hair hanging alongside my neck, then I tasted fear as I saw in my mind’s eye my mother coming at me with her wooden spoon because she’s mad I have no common sense. But then I came to my senses and realized she hadn’t seen a thing. I was one lucky son of a gun.

So that was my secret…’til now. Every year I’d watch A Christmas Story and silently nod in agreement when everyone yelled at Ralphie that he would shoot his eye out. But guess what Santa brought my daughter this year? You guessed it. An official Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air rifle. And she loves it. She knocked a can over in the yard on her second shot.

Sharp Shooter

Of course I’ve learned a few things about gun safety, and other stuff, since I was her age. But I definitely still do dumb things. And I never want my mom to know about them. But now that I’m a mom I understand that unconditional love means that no matter what your child does, even it’s the dumbest shit you’ve ever seen, you’ll love her. And even though you might cringe hearing about all the ways your progeny ain’t no prodigy, you want to hear about it anyway. After all, you can’t cover it up if you don’t know about it.