The hard work of motherhood

It’s hard to be a mother. How hard, depends on how many you are mothering. Whoever said, “The more the merrier” was probably not deserving of the Mother title.

The first problem is that mothers love too much. There is no greater love than for a child…or six, so how do they manage it? Unwritten rules say they must love everyone equally, no matter who deserves what attention, either positive or negative, who is demanding, who sits back, who is constantly behind a problem, who is happy, who is sad?

A mother’s jobs are miriad: nursemaid, confidant, judge, disciplinarian, problem solver, care-giver, cook, fashion editor and guardian angel. She had better know whether an injury or illness is serious, whether to soothe or laugh, how to be fair, how to be firm, how to be fun, give the biggest hugs and watch every minute from afar.

Mother is responsible for manners, cleanliness, attitudes and entertainment. She must develop new interests like sports, music or horses, that sometimes seem beyond her capabilities, and surreptitiously try to choose the right mates, all the while pretending to know what she is doing.

If everyone survives the teen years and the fledglings are grown and flown, a mother finds out what it has all been for. Those who were never demanding feel no one ever paid any attention to them. In a moment of adult rudeness, when reminded of upbringing, one says, “Ah Mom, no one writes thank you notes today,” or “So you gave me x number of dollars to help me out, do you know how much money I have given my kids?” A divorce is suddenly Mother's fault because "You never approved of any of the dates I brought home." It is a rude awakening, and yet…

It's OK because they still remember the camping, the birthday parties, Christmases with grandparents, vacations, the daily dinner table, security and your hugs.

My mother left us unexpectedly 30 years ago while I was on a trip to England. She had changed from the beautiful self-assured woman who took over the room the minute she walked in, to the silly old lady who threw a half a chicken across a restaurant. I never had the nerve as an adult to tell her the things that bothered me while growing up. They took very little time to no longer matter. I think of her often and of her tremendous influence on me.

On Mother’s Day this Sunday, call, visit or just think of your mother, and hope that this will be your future with your children.