This past Mother’s Day was a not so fun day. The kids dug into their backpacks for crumpled “Mother’s Day” school art projects, and handed over the goods with very little fan fair. Ben was distracted, getting ready for his 3 week trip and trying to serve me by mowing the grass one last time, changing the oil in the cars, etc. etc. etc. Needless to say, there was very little celebrating going on.
For some reason the kids fought all weekend. There were tears, shoves, raised voices, and at approximately 6:05 on Sunday evening, I declared this was the worst Mother’s Day ever and sent everyone to their rooms. I think I even said that I needed to not see them for a little while.
After a few days of mulling over how angry I was, I think the real issue was that I didn’t want to be a mother on Mother’s Day. What I really wanted was “Hero Worship Day” where statues were built, flowers were strewn, and the masses knelt at my feet. I wanted to be celebrated, lauded, honored, and served.
I didn’t want to do the work of mothering – the correcting, the training, the serving, or the listening. I wanted the status but not the job. And so, I missed the whole day. It passed me by in a haze of unrealistic expectations and hurt feelings. It overflowed out onto my kids who felt like they couldn’t please me no matter what they did or said.
And, I regret that. I hope I don’t miss another Mother’s Day.