Mothers Day

These days, I call my mother almost everyday, somewhere amid the chaos of waking, washing, breakfasting, and remembering to get everyone dressed, of tackling the e-mail, voice mail, and snail mail. Every time she answers, I’m struck by the unmistakable delight in her voice at the sound of mine. There probably isn’t anyone else in the world who is as glad to hear from me, who is as sincerely interested in the details of my life, in my firsthand reports of what I have to do that day, or even in my secondhand account of what my young children are involved in.

What are we doing, my mother and I, with all these phone calls? Staying in touch, letting one another know that another day is here and all is well — no small thing anymore, in the world we live in. We are establishing our places, too: Whatever else I may be, I’ll always be your daughter; whatever else you are, you’ll always be my mom. But we’re also becoming friends, both of us adults, independent of one another, yet deeply connected.

I have to reach back a long way to remember another time when every day began with my mother’s voice -MOOOOORNING! In a high pitch squeak- all the way to my early teens, when the two of us lived under the same roof.
Our Changing Relationship

When I think about my relationship with my mom, I laugh a little. I was consistently rude to her as a teenager — I was the kind of kid who often responded to some innocuous comment like, “Good morning, dear!” with a snarl. A heartfelt, somewhat pained question like “Why are you doing this?” was met with “Get off my back!” I was by turns sullen, needy, and resentful. I had an arrogant certainty that I’d arrange all aspects of my life in ways that would absolutely leave my mother in the dust. Forgiving as she is, my mom insists that I was a “complicated but interesting” teenager, occasionally challenging, but always intriguing.
Mom Understands

As you grow up, you learn and relearn something you knew as a very young child — that sometimes, only a mom will do.
For many, having children of our own changes and deepens our understanding of who our mothers really are, and why they did the things they did. I had kids of my own, and began suffering from the anxiety that comes with motherhood — you know, fretting about things happening to my children, or things not happening when they should. Now I understand her completely.

My mother is someone who loves me without limit. The same love I have for my own children.

Happy Mothers Day Mommy. I love you!

* from a coupon sense post* 

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