Mother's Day

It's Mother's Day, and I am enjoying some precious extra lounging time in my room, hanging out in my pj's while I can hear the sounds of Dan & Ben deep in breakfast preparations. It's so heartwarming to see them trying to make this day special for me, and because they know me so well, I'm assuming we'll be starting the morning off with coffee and pancakes. Or at least that's what I can gather from the sounds streaming from the kitchen. One of these days I'll post our favorite made-from-scratch pancake recipe, because if you had it in your recipe collection, you'd be wanting them at every possible chance, too. What could be better than warm, fluffy, light, buttermilk goodness with melted butter and strawberry spread on top? Oh my gosh, they need to hurry up with my pancakes. I've got a little puddle of drool collecting at the side of my mouth.

But this isn't entirely about pancakes today (though, admittedly, it's a highlight). It's about Mother's Day, about my own Mother, actually.

I was thinking about her this morning as I was laying there completely guilt-free and relaxed. Because she & I are so close, it's easy to brag and honor her on this special day for all that she does for me at this state in my life. Her care & help with my children is simply invaluable, and her input and wisdom in my life as a mother and friend is one of the greatest gifts I can think of. But the more challenging task, simply because of my faulty memory, is to think and remember what she was like when my siblings & I were very young- how did she do things, namely raise FOUR CHILDREN? What would she tell us? How did she handle all the moods and hormones and arguing and limit testing?  What were her hopes for us when we were children? What was the most important message she wanted to give us?

And then a wonderful memory came back to me, and I promptly got the chills and realized that I already carry in my heart one of the important messages from her.

My mother was committed to making sure we knew, with absolute certainty, that we were loved. Unconditionally. No matter what we did or were capable of doing, she made sure we knew that she would always love us. I can remember driving with her, and from the back seat precariously trying to think of the most awful thing I could do that would surely be grounds for terminating a mother's love. What if I stole something? "I would still love you," she'd reply. She didn't even need to think about it. What if I punched my brother in the face? "I would still love you," she'd repeat. Hmmm. What if I KILLED SOMEONE? Surely a mother can't love a child if they've just committed murder! "Honey, I would be very, very, very disappointed in you. And I would be sad, and my heart would be broken. But I would still love you, just as much as before." What a tremendously wonderful gift; a child who is loved unconditionally really doesn't need much more, do they?

See, Mom? Some of it soaked in and stayed with me! Sometimes I was actually listening!

Mom, thank you for giving us such a healthy, grounded upbringing and for your commitment to showing us unconditional love. Thank you for instigating my love for pancakes. Thank you for being the reason I fell in love with cooking. Thank you for letting me take "mental health days" when I was in school. Thank you for making up "Jammy Parties" (and since I've passed this down to my children, I'm sure someday they'll thank you for it, too). Thank you for modeling a beautiful marriage. Thank you for being a master listener and nurturer. Thank you for for always being my "safe place". Thank you for being so connected to me both times I gave birth; for holding my hands (and legs) and feeling every contraction with me, giving me a strength I didn't know was possible. Thank you for always packing us healthy lunches. Thank you for wanting to protect us in an effort to preserve our innocence. Thank you for always finding me humorous; I love the sound of your laugh, so I will always try to draw it out of you.

My son has just informed me that my pancakes are ready, and I'm looking at him thinking two things: 1) this is music to my ears, and 2) I could not be the mother that I am to my son & daughter without the example and legacy you've left for me, Mom.

Thank you. I love you!