Last week at my son’s preschool Mother’s Day celebration, the kids took a turn standing up and reciting reasons why they loved their moms.
The accolades I heard about all of the sweet mamas were so endearing and unforgettable.
Why do you love your mom?
She loves me.
She makes me pancakes.
She gives good kisses.
She cuddles with me.
She rides bikes with me.
She is nice.
She is pretty.
She plays Candy Land with me.
She makes me mac & cheese.
She always hugs me.
She takes me to frozen yogurt.
She gives me water.
She lets me sleep with her sometimes.
She cleans my room.
She makes me milkshakes.
She helps me be brave for my shots.
She lets me watch movies in her bed with her.
She makes me waffles at Christmas.
She helps me with the things I can’t do.
She never forgets me.
What I love about this list is the effortlessness inherent in these reasons to love.
It’s all so very easy. Because kids are impressed with the unimpressive. And they find the extraordinary in the ordinary.
The least complicated is what matters. The least complicated is what they remember. And it’s because of the least complicated that they love us oh so very much.
So often I feel as if I’m trying to move mountains to create unique and valuable experiences. I’m trying to be that kind of mother (and wife and person) that I so admire and that I so imagined I always would be. The creative, adventurous kind that moves smoothly and naturally from tea partying to costume making to hiking to tree climbing to scavenger hunting to cooking to everything-ing…and over and over and over again. I feel that I want to be that kind of mom who designs amazing memories. I want to open the whole wide world to my kids and give them every opportunity I can dream up for them. I want to be that super cool mom who does all of these super cool things with her super cool kids (who are super cool because they get to do all of these super cool things).
And always feeling that way always leaves me feeling like I’m always falling short. And my family is somehow missing out on something or in some way.
When, in truth, the only things they really notice, the only things they love, the only things that make a difference to them, are the things I do without the fanfare and effort. And without ever realizing I’m doing them.
They love me for me. Nothing more. Just plain ol’ ordinary me. That’s enough for them.
So maybe that should that be enough for me too.
If only we could learn to love ourselves for the same reasons our kids love us—for just being us and for doing all of those wonderful, miraculous things we do all day, every day. All of those ordinary, wonderful, miraculous things.
How fun would it be to be so impressed by our genius all of the time?
How great would it be to have so many more reasons to love ourselves?
How brilliant would it be to feel so content?
How comforting would it be not to have to try so hard?
And what would I do with all of that time and energy I spend worrying about all of that stuff that apparently no one even notices anyway?
Think of all of those extra snuggles and games of Candy Land we could play. Think of all of the extra love we could give. Think of all the extra love they could receive.
My kids love me because I’m me. I’m enough. And I take care of them.
In my own beautiful and perfect way.
And I need to love me because I’m me too.
In my own beautiful and perfect way.
And I make really good pancakes.
K
AMEN!!!!