Lessons from Motherhood

The softer you speak, the louder the lesson. Nothing gets attention more quickly than a <seemingly> calm parent.

There is always room in the house for “homemade” anything. I still have a pin shaped like a heart and covered with red granulated sugar that I am going to wear to Mother’s Day Mass given to me when my son was in early elementary school.

It’s easier to bust them for things you did when you were a kid. Growing up I shared a room with my sister. We kept the light on in our closet overnight as an unofficial night light. Because we frequently moved the furniture, I always tried to get the one nearest the closet because I would open the door a little more to get enough light to read. I would be so tired the next day that my mother would think I was sick. Years later I remember accusing Anthony of reading after bedtime. Imagine, chiding your child because they were up late reading. Not every moment is a mother-of-the-year moment.

PlayDoh colors can mix and the end of the world does not come. I think about how many minutes of my life were spent trying to pick-up the wonderful molding toy and it makes me crazy just thinking about it.

All we have is time. And, all we don’t have is time. While I regret only having little Tommy for nearly four years I have never regretted the time we simply just spent together. Fast forward to Anthony and I made life and career choices I am proud of and still reap the benefit of.

The best way to land your helicopter is to never let it take off. Maybe it’s because I watch parents every day at work but I wanted to be sure I wasn’t that parent we all talk about. I am happy we taught our son how to manage money as a young teen, helping him get a checking account when he was 14. I only went toe to toe with one teacher, backing up the rest even when I was less than certain I agreed with their lesson. Watching him navigate his life, making decisions and doing it on his own is way more fun than flying a helicopter.

Even in death, all things are not lost. Over twenty years ago, after Tommy died I planted daffodil bulbs behind our property in a wooded area. I could see them every year and as they multiplied I was reminded of new life. Last year, without notice, the village clear cut forty feet of brush and trees to help with a drainage problem and I was never able to dig up those bulbs for planting in another area. I cried like a baby. I wept because it brought the loss back to the tip of my eyes and the front of my consciousness. About ten days ago, around the remaining brush, this is what I saw:

 one daffodil survived reminding me to hang in there. All is not lost.

Happy Mother’s Day to all of the mothers in my life.

Life is good!

Jude

Twitter: MidMajorMom

Twitter: JudeCaserta

About these ads