Mother's Day 2015

First off, Happy Mother’s Day to all you moms out there. That includes birth mothers, adoptive mothers, mothers-to-be, step-mothers, foster mothers, mothers-in-law, and women who are like mothers. 

Heck, I should probably also include any single dads out there who have tackled both mom and dad duties. You have to give credit to a guy who can assemble a decent braid on his little girl’s head without it looking like a hot mess.

I’m sure I’m forgetting a category or two, but perhaps I can just include “and anyone else I may have missed,” which is kind of like the verbiage on job descriptions that gives employers free reign to tack on extra duties whenever they feel like it. 

Anyway, the point is, I wish all those special women out there an extra happy day on Sunday.  Yours is a job that is worth a fortune, but pays in strictly non-monetary ways throughout the years – from the infant tightly gripping your finger during feeding time, to the countless hugs and kisses you’ve been given, and from being the first person your child wants to show their masterpiece drawing or A+ test score to the first person your adult children want to call when something good – or bad – happens to them.

Sure, you’ve been given lots of Mother’s Day presents as a reward for all your hard work.

But you cherish the tiny handprint Mother’s Day plaque you received when your child was a toddler as much as the elaborate flower arrangement you received once your child grows up. (Oh, and don’t tell FTD, but she may appreciate the handprint Mother’s Day plaque just a tiny bit more.)

 But no matter how heartfelt our handmade creations are or how much money we spend on mom, those gifts can never repay her what we owe her for the love and devotion she has given in raising us.

Interestingly, she doesn’t expect gifts or monetary rewards. It was simply her job and a role she cherished.  (Well, maybe not so much the stinky diaper changes or the spitting up thing. She probably could've done without those.)

Yes, I realize that I’m looking only at the positive role models and I recognize that there are mothers out there who probably never should have been mothers. But I have been fortunate to have known so many women who were and are wonderful, loving mothers. So this is my tribute to them.

Sadly, I never got to add the title of “mom” to my own name. But I’m a pretty decent aunt and I have been fortunate enough to hold lots of friends’ and relatives’ babies over the years. And I was a heckuva babysitter when I was young, so I’ve changed my share of stinky diapers and dealt with the spitting up thing. But, even better, I got to experience that feeling of an infant tightly gripping my finger during feeding time. And I’ve been given lots of hugs and kisses by little ones. And many of my friends’ kids know me as “Aunt Jane.”  So I’m not complaining.  Technically, I’m even a step-mom to three grown children, although there was never the need to “parent” them. I just hope that they somehow know I care about them and wish them all the best as they go through this life.

 

So, while I don’t know firsthand what it’s like to be a mom, I am fortunate that I still have my own mom here to thank for all she’s done for me. I can tell her that I love her.  And I hope she knows how very grateful I am to have been her daughter.

But I don’t know that she does anymore. My mother, you see, is dealing with dementia or Alzheimer’s. Whichever it is, it is a devastating illness and my mom is not the same woman I’ve known my entire life.

Yes, I’m very grateful to still have her here with us. I’m grateful that I can call her every week and she still knows who I am. Every week she asks about Vince and calls him by name.  But sometimes, toward the end of the conversation, she might say, “…and give our love to your dear husband,” which makes me wonder if she has temporarily forgotten his name.  

And I wonder when that memory lapse might become permanent. Which makes me so sad, I can hardly bear to think about it.

Our conversations are mostly one-sided these days with me giving her a recitation of our activities. Mom’s responses are usually of the, “Oh, my…” and “you’ve been busy” variety. Her contribution to the conversation is usually to ask about the weather, and she may ask three or four times. Just as she may ask a half dozen times what day of the week it is.

I always answer her with patience and love. I figure that she spent years doing the same when I was young, so it’s my chance to return the favor. I’m sure there were times when she grew a bit weary when her children went through the “How come?” and “But, why?” phase in which we repeatedly asked the same questions. Yet she somehow answered all our questions, which allowed us to move on to the next stage in our growth and development.

Mom still reads the newspaper every day, except that she may re-read the same article numerous times.  Very often she reads it aloud, which means we have to state our comments over and over again as if we’d never said them the first time.  Mom has a difficult time with any changes to their day-to-day routine, so she relies on Dad for everything. And it scares us to think what will happen if our dad leaves this earth before our mom.

My mom was a formidable woman when we were young. Yeah, all five feet, two inches of her. She was intelligent and opinionated – and Mom was pretty much always right. (Back then we thought she merely told us she was always right. Years later I have come to realize…she pretty much was always right.) 

But you didn’t cross her. She had a bit of an Irish temper and we knew not to misbehave or we’d suffer the consequences.

She was not our friend or our buddy. I don’t understand it when people today say their mom is their best friend. Sure, when kids are older, I kind of get it. But “in my day” (uh oh - soundin' like an old person here!), mothers were mothers and not friends. There was a definite hierarchy in the relationship that can’t really be present with best friends.

Believe me, we knew who was boss.  We sometimes behaved out of fear more than out of merely doing what was right. But through that method, we learned the difference between right and wrong and soon we didn’t need the fear part. We just did what was right because we knew it was the proper thing to do.

We also learned very quickly that mom was not the maid. And if we ever forgot that little tidbit, she made sure to tell us.  Emphatically.

Even when we were very young, we had chores to do around the house and we were responsible for our own belongings. Thus, the family room was never cluttered with toys and there was an order to our lives. One of my chores was vacuuming, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t like vacuuming back then because I still don’t like doing it now. (This is where Vince pipes in with, “When do you ever vacuum now?!”) But those lessons learned at a young age have helped me throughout my life.  And I’m happy that I don’t live in a messy home where I’d be afraid to have a friend drop by unexpectedly.

So I grew up in a different time and a different place. Parenting back then was different than it is today. I’m not saying it was better back then, but I definitely think there are pros and cons to each generation’s methods. 

But no matter the era or the method, a mother’s love is constant – and that has never changed.

There are so many times I wish I could still call Mom when something good – or bad – happens. When I want her congratulations or commiserations. When I am sick or need a pep talk, mom is the first person I think of to call. But I usually can’t do that these days as I don’t want to upset her. 

But I do take comfort in the fact that I can hug her whenever I see her. So many people I know have lost their mothers and dearly wish they could give their moms just one more hug. So I know I'm lucky.  

I get choked up and teary-eyed when Mom holds me extra tight before she heads off to bed and she whispers that she loves me. Mom grew up in a generation where you didn't just routinely say the words, "I love you." We were simply supposed to know that we were loved. And we did...but it is good to hear the words now and again. That she tells me how she feels now is even more poignant. I keep trying to store up those hugs and words and feelings, as I know that there will come a time in the not-too-distant future when she won't be able to say them.

Yet I miss those lively conversations I had with her once I grew up and didn’t need the lectures anymore. Jane-the-pacifist would even take one of her great debates – something Mom relished. I pretty much thought they were just arguments, and I knew I’d never win one of those with her. But if it meant that Mom was healthy again, I'd gladly participate in one of those discussions.

So while I miss being able to call my mother and ask for her opinion or advice, I know that I’ve been fortunate to have had her for as long as I have. And, because of her earlier guidance, I pretty much know what course I should take anyway. 

And I thank God for her every day. 

And, Mom?  While you’ll never read this blog (and would be appalled that I’m even talking about you in the first place!), I wish you a very Happy Mother’s Day. I love you - more than words or a bouquet of flowers - can say.

Pajama Zone Sunday

Wow – what a weekend we had!  No, we didn’t flit from holiday party to holiday party all weekend long.  And, no, we didn’t enter the fray of frenzied shoppers at the mall. 

Instead, we had Pajama Zone Sunday.  And it was gooooood!

 I can’t remember the last time we didn’t change out of our PJs all day – if ever.  The operative word in that sentence, by the way, is “we.”  Why?  Because when I was single I had many a Pajama Zone Day.  Hey, I was a busy girl during the week and sometimes the weekends were mine alone to relax, rejuvenate and, well, stay comfy! 

But Vince usually is a go-go-go kinda guy and wants to get a lot of stuff accomplished on his day off.  Probably it didn’t help that neither he nor I felt well this weekend.  Are sinus headaches catching?  Because he had one Saturday night and I had one on Sunday. 

We didn’t start out deciding to stay in our PJs all day.  We talked about what groceries we need to replenish the fridge and discussed the menus over the Christmas holiday when family and friends will be visiting.  We talked about the odd gift or two we still need to purchase.  And we talked about driving to CVS to pick up some more sinus headache medicine.

But none of that happened.  Instead, I took a long nap and Vince had a chance to channel surf without me giving him “the eye.”  And when I woke up, we reheated some leftovers and then watched a couple movies on cable.  Can you say la-zy?

Now, this is not to say we didn’t accomplish anything.  I mean, Vince worked long hours this weekend.  And I did approximately 9,000 loads of laundry on Saturday.  I even managed to get it all dried, folded and put away in the dresser or hung back up in the closet.  In addition, I changed cat litter (ugh).  I scrubbed sinks and toilets (double ugh). I replaced soap in soap dispensers and put new rolls of toilet paper on the spare roll spindles so no one in our home will ever have to say, “Hey!  There’s no toilet paper in here!” 

And I wrapped Christmas gifts until 2:30 in the morning.  Well, I didn’t intend to wrap gifts until the wee hours of the morning, but I don’t really enjoy this task, so I just slogged my way through it until I was done. 

Don’t get me wrong – I love pretty wrapping paper, bright bows and colorful ribbon and seeing all the gaily wrapped gifts under the Christmas tree.  But I’m simply not a very good wrapper.  I either cut the paper too short so the ends don’t meet and cover the box – or I cut the paper so long I end up having to lop off at least half a foot on either end so I can fold the paper and tape it closed.  Nothing ever matches, especially the seams, so I tend to use wide ribbon to hide all my mistakes. 

This is why I adore gift bags.

The one chore I did forget was to water the plants, as evidenced by the droopy ficus I spied in the dining room this morning before breakfast.  So I took care of that little task after gulping my morning coffee and before racing out the door to get to work. Hope the ficus forgives me.

Other than leaving the houseplants thirsty, should we have felt guilty for having a Pajama Zone Sunday?  No, I don’t thinks so. And I’ll tell you why.

We spend so much of our lives busily checking off all the things on our to-do lists or bucket lists or career lists. We feel badly if a day goes by when we haven’t accomplished all we set out to do that day.  If we’re not moving forward, it’s bad.  You can’t have a “stand still” day – or, heaven forbid, a “going backwards” kind of day.

True, forward momentum is a good thing and makes us feel as if we’re accomplishing something with our lives.  But standing still for a moment can also be important. 

All we have to do is hear about a tragedy like that in Newtown, CT, and we're stopped in our tracks. How many people heard the news and then wanted to hold their children or loved ones close and hug them and kiss them and tell them how much they are cherished? 

Sure, we do that all the time.  We kiss our loved ones goodbye and call out “Love ya!” as we head out to start our busy day – and we mean it – but sometimes it becomes rote.  Maybe we’re distracted with what lies ahead or we’re thinking about that ever-lovin’ To-Do list.  So “rote” doesn’t mean insincere.  But it should never take a tragedy to make us realize how much we truly do love our family and our friends and that they are so much more precious than ticking off little boxes on our To-Do lists.

Vince and I spent a lot of time yesterday talking.  We held hands practically all day long (well, except for when I was napping and he was channel surfing. Oh, and any time one of us had a potty break. Yeah, yeah, I know that should go without saying, but some people are very literal.)  We didn’t just hurriedly discuss how we’re going to handle this situation or whether or not we’re going to attend that event and we didn’t spend those precious moments coordinating our schedules.  Instead, we spent the day reconnecting.

And through this experience, we once again realized how much we love each other and how fortunate we are and how abundant the gifts are that God has given us. 

So, while you don’t have to have a Pajama Zone day to come to these realizations, it can’t hurt.  Go ahead – try it one of these weekends. 

Just make sure your fridge is fully stocked and you don’t need to run to CVS for sinus headache medication.  Because, believe me, as cute as you may think you look in them, no one is interested in seeing you in your hot pink footy pajamas.  No. One.

(But, seriously, who knew you could even buy hot pink footy pajamas for grown-ups?)