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Sweet Love

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Today is my first Mother’s Day without my mom.

I thought it would be hard. I was dreading this first in this year of the firsts. Today is the first Mother’s Day. In August it will be my sons’ first birthdays. In October it will be my first birthday. Later this year, we will have the first Thanksgiving and the first Christmas. All of these days I have celebrated with my mom, every year until this year. And now, moving forward, I will celebrate them without her.

Today is bittersweet in the way I think all of these big days will be bittersweet in this year of the firsts.

But even though it is the first Mother’s Day, today isn’t strikingly different than yesterday. And I don’t think it will be that different from tomorrow.

Because I miss her every day. I think of her every day. I love her every day. Just because it’s Mother’s Day it doesn’t mean I miss her more, or think of her more, or appreciate her more. Because I don’t think I could miss her or think of her or appreciate her any more today than any other day.

Today is a first, and it is a day I will miss celebrating with my mom. But today is still a day I can celebrate.

Because today, on this first Mother’s Day, I choose the sweet of the bittersweet.

I choose to celebrate her life. Even if it means I have to celebrate without her.

Today I celebrate my mom. I thank her for the road and the shelter she gave me. I thank her for her creativity and genius. I thank her for all of the ways she helped build my character and soften my heart. I thank her for her unconditional love.

I celebrate her inspiration in my own life, in my own choices, in my own perspective. I remember her fight, her long and hard and well-fought fight. I remember her courage under fire. I remember how graceful she was. I remember all of the awareness she made possible and all of the lives she touched with her story. I remember all of the good that came out of all of the bad, all because of her.

Today I celebrate her life and her love. I celebrate all of the ways she is an inspiration for me and all of the ways she will continue to be an inspiration for many.

I celebrate with my little boys, the little boys who shine with her sweet spirit. The little boys she loved so very much and who loved her back in the same pure and honest ways she loved them. I celebrate the love that will always be between them. They may not have the memories. But they will always have the love.

Today is the first Mother’s Day without my mom.

I miss her. I will miss her every day. But I will never stop celebrating her.

I will always take the sweet. Even if it means I also have to take the bitter. I will always take her love. Even if it means I also have to take her loss.

I love you, Mom. Happy Mother’s Day.

KID

Mom Knows Best

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I have known my children every little minute of their little lives. I understand their chemistries and their hearts. I know their nooks and crannies. I know their moods, their joys, and the precise locations of all of their freckles.

I know my kids. I know what my kids need. I’m Mom. And Mom knows best.

Except, of course, when she doesn’t.

Take one of those “fill in the blank” parenting problems-the overwhelming, exasperating kind of problem. The kind of problem with a variety of possible “solutions” from experts and friends. The kind of problem that comes with a lot of opinions.

I know that problem. And I know how it feels when I can’t fill in the blank. I know furrowed brows, tears, and a lot of guilt. I know times when I put my head in my hands and say I don’t know what to do.

I don’t know what to do. I. Don’t. Know. What. To. Do.

Sometimes Mom knows best. But sometimes Mom doesn’t have a clue.

There’s an expectation for parents to get it right all of the time because there’s an assumption that we have this special kind of knowledge.

Not only do we know our kids, but we are the grown-ups. We have decades of life experience on our sides. We have an understanding of the end game. We have learned from our own mistakes.

We are the Yodas to these young Jedis. Great knowledge we have.

But the truth is, we don’t.

Despite my decades of real-life years, my parenting years are pretty limited. I’ve only been a mom as long as my kid has been a kid.

There is still a lot to learn and a lot of ways in which to grow. Not just for my kids, but for me too. There are a lot of I don’t knows still to say and a lot of bad choices still to make. Not just for my kids, but for me too.

Kids grow up. But along the way, so do parents. And no one gets through it without a few scraped knees.

Moms may know best most of the time, but certainly not all of the time. We try and we try and we try. We pour and we pour and we pour into these kids.

Sometimes we hit it out of the park. Sometimes we swing and miss.

But we have this beautiful gift called unconditional love.

It’s a love with room for screw-ups, second chances, and forgiveness. It’s a love of duration without expectation. And it’s a love that knows we can’t possibly know best all of the time.

It’s also a two-way street.

No matter how often our kids get it wrong, we love them no matter what.

No matter how often we get it wrong, our kids love us no matter what.

In the end, that’s all that really counts. And that’s a better kind of best to know.

KID

Spidey Shoes

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My five-year-old son wears Spider-Man shoes that light up when he runs.

He also wears Angry Bird socks pulled up to his knees.

He hides a Peyton Manning jersey two sizes too small in the corner of his closet every night so that I don’t wash it and he can wear it again the next day. I’ve tried buying him other jerseys but he prefers that tight-fitting, stained and smelly one to anything else. He says it helps him run fast.

He has three different varieties of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pajamas in orange, blue and red as to represent Michelangelo, Leonardo and Raphael. Sorry Donatello, but purple is a girl color.

He has a Spidey hooded sweatshirt and the hood hangs down over his eyes like a Spidey mask. He stays warm while also preventing his identity from being revealed. Genius.

Years ago I met a woman who told me she never let her boys wear clothes with characters or words on them.

I think of her every time I fold the laundry.

When my son started Kindergarten this year, we had almost daily wardrobe wrangles. I’d choose a plaid button-down shirt. He’d want a Superman t-shirt with holes in it because it has a cape. I’d pick skinny jeans. He’d choose soccer shorts. I’d suggest a striped Izod shirt. He’d beg for a shirt depicting various kinds of poop at the zoo. (I’m not kidding, it’s literally a shirt with pictures of poop at the zoo.)

Some days we compromise, which generally results in a “business up top, party down below” (or vice versa) ensemble. And some days it’s just a cute little hot mess. In very bright colors.

For all of you amazing moms who somehow manage to get your boys in cardigans, berets and bow ties, I truly tip my hat to you.

Your kids look adorable. Your kids are what my MiniBoden and Crewcuts dreams are made of. Your kids are the kids in the posters in the windows at the mall.

My kids are the kids in capes running around in those windows.

Sometimes I look at my darling little ragamuffin at the bus stop and I can’t help but cringe.

And then I pray that it’s not picture day or assembly day or a day in which the national news just might be spotlighting our school.

But then I smile.

And remind myself that he’s five years old.

There’s only so long in a life that you can get away with wearing a mask or a cape or shoes that light up when you run. And there’s only so long that in a life that you want to wear a mask or a cape or shoes that light up when you run.

So I say, let him be five.

Let him be a superhero every day. Let him think he looks like the coolest kid on the block. Let him make some little choices about his life, the kind of choices that really don’t matter at the end of the day.

Because soon enough he won’t want to look like a superhero anymore. Soon enough he’ll exchange his role models for ones that aren’t so super and aren’t so heroic. Soon enough he’ll just want to fit in and wear what everyone else wears and do what everyone else does. And soon enough he’ll have to make some big choices about his life, the kind of choices that do matter at the end of the day. So he better start getting some practice.

Of all the battles with my kids, this is one in which I sometimes just have to wave the white flag. Honestly, I’d rather he eat the carrots than wear the button-down.

So if you ever wonder what kind of mother would let her kid out of the house in soccer shorts and a dirty jersey, with shoes that light up, a cape flying behind him and a mask over his eyes, I’ll tell you.

It’s a superhero’s mom.

I only wish I were brave enough to wear the shoes.

KID

Not So Bad

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Yesterday was one of those icky days. The kind when you wake up and right off the bat you’re wishing for a redo. Nothing even close to catastrophic happened, just a bunch of little things in a row that had me on a warpath by noon.

I woke up early and picked up the family room, took greater than usual care to vacuum, fluff and arrange the pillows on the sofa, fold and lay the afghans and pick up and put away the toys, books and thousands of itty bitty pieces of plastic.

I left the room for no more than two minutes (to go to the bathroom; of course it always happens when I go to the bathroom), and my hooligans had destroyed every single last bit of my handiwork. They pulled every cushion, pillow and blanket off the couch to make a huge pile in the middle of the floor and were standing on the couch frame hurling the aforementioned itty bitty pieces of plastic at each other…and then at me.

After dropping one of the three monkeys at the bus stop, I headed to the gym with the other two. I was rejected at the door of the Kids’ Club for “alleged” (aka “We don’t want to deal with your kids”) reasons.

Trying to salvage the morning, we headed to the park.

Have you ever tried to use a porta-potty with 2x two-year-olds? I’ll just leave it at that.

Next we drove to the pharmacy drive-thru to pick up a prescription. When told I had to wait for an hour, I said this: “Why are you being so rude to me? Do you know I have two screaming children in here?” Then I followed it up with a dramatic entrance into the store and onto a soapbox (twins in tow, yet still able to make spirited hand gestures) and an “I. Would. Like. To. Speak. To. A. Manager. I. Will. Be. Taking. My. Prescriptions. Elsewhere.” Wow. Someone call Broadway.

I came home, fed the kids the $15 worth of food I bought in the Starbucks drive thru (thank God for drive thrus) because I was so exasperated from this no good day and the thought of swiping peanut butter seemed like way too much. Although, truth be told, that Starbucks grilled cheese is pretty out of this world.

Three poop diapers, two water fights atop our kitchen island and one thankfully unsuccessful attempt to actually SWING from a light fixture, I put the ruffians down for a nap and went about trying to recreate the picturesque family room, sighing and wah wah-ing along the way.

And then my mom sent me this photo of herself:

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My brave and fierce mama began her fifth round of chemo last week. She was already losing her hair and decided to take the bull by the horns, shave her head and meet the inevitable with courage and dignity.

She was bald, she was smiling and she was beautiful.

God bless my sweet mama. She feels so bad but then has the grace to apologize for complaining about it. She’s the one person who truly knows what a truly bad day is because she’s had more than her fair share. She stares it right in the face and says: “Is this all you got?” Then she shaves her head and goes out for Italian food to celebrate.

And just like that, my day didn’t seem so bad after all. Just like that, all of my silly problems seemed extra silly.

Isn’t it crazy how a little perspective can come at the exact moment when we need it most?

Of course, this is not to say that we aren’t due our fair share of bad days. Or that our problems aren’t problems or that our mini tragedies aren’t tragic. Because they are. We can’t always compare and minimize our lot because there’s always someone with a trump card. And sometimes we just need to give ourselves a little room for a little self-pity and have ourselves a little wah wah.

But every once in a while, it helps to get a little gut check. Sometimes we need a little “in the grand scheme of things” reminder that a messy house, a missed workout and a little extra wait time aren’t really the fixings of a bad day.

And maybe a little poop isn’t so bad when we think about someone else who might have a whole lot more crap on her hands.

Thanks, Mom. Again.

Love you.

K