Thoughts for Mother's Day

Every year around Mother’s Day, I reminisce over photos of my daughters’ childhoods. The day Sara climbed a tree and uncovered an active bee hive. The innumerable hours Jenna has spent searching for the perfect seashell. Allison waving goodbye from the kindergarten bus. The Disney World trip when Olivia lost her tooth in an ice cream bar.

Recently, I found a picture of myself as a bewildered new mother. It brought me back to that stage of my life when I was trying to get it all right, struggling to be exactly what my children needed at every moment. As I looked at the picture, I was filled with compassion for that young mom. I thought of the words I’d say to reassure and guide her and the many things I’d give her permission to stop.

I would tell my younger self to stop searching for the correct answers because there aren’t any. When I was a new mother, I studied parenting books like my baby’s life depended on my mastery of every word. I highlighted, underlined, and took notes. I could recite the research on solid foods, potty training, and optimal sleep positions. The amount of available information was enormous, and I was determined to absorb it all.

Four children and a couple decades later, I’ve finally uncovered the truth. Nobody knows much of anything.  We’re all mostly making it up as we go along - trying our hardest, but so often coming up short. We can discover the perfect tactic with one child, only to find it has little effect on another. Even the experts change their minds and disagree. Children have quirks, needs, and idiosyncrasies that do not follow a rule book.

I’d tell my younger self to stop fretting over things that ultimately won’t matter. It turns out there’s no need to research the perfect kindergarten pencil grip, wash baby clothes separately from the rest of the laundry, or entertain their every passing interest with expensive lessons and equipment. Children don’t need fancy toys or trips. They just need time -unrushed, unscheduled time with the people they love.

I’d tell my younger self to stop breaking their falls so often. Adversity is good training ground. It’s alright if they don’t make a team. That’s how they develop resilience. It’s alright if they aren’t invited to a party. That might be when they branch out and make a new friend. It’s alright if their heart is broken a bit. That’s how they learn their own strength.

I’d tell my younger self to stop meddling in God’s plan for my children. My girls have their own journey with Him, and, as much as I want to give my advice, He doesn’t need it.  Instead of praying that God act according to my timetable, I’d pray that He show me the wisdom in His.

I still see glimpses of the children they once were. The way one continues to find hidden treasures in the most unlikely places and the way another raises her voice an octave when she’s overwhelmed. The way one cannot sit still to save her life, and the way another will always choose the familiar over the unexpected.

Those dogeared pages of my parenting books are of no use now. My years of raising children are finished. They’ve learned to talk, walk, and share. They can wrap spaghetti around a fork, wait their turn in line, and look the waiter in the eye when ordering food. They know they should work hard, arrive on time, and eat vegetables on a fairly regular basis. They have homes of their own where I visit them and marvel at all they have become.

When I look back, I see the immensity of my mistakes, but I also see the immensity of love. A love that makes no earthly sense, that defies all logic and reason. Gentle and fierce. Playful and disciplined. Tender and tenacious. A love that is unwavering, unrelenting, and unceasing. A love that has been the greatest joy of my life.