In search of Mother's Day

Mother's Day. It arrives in a few days and with it comes breakfast in bed (dry toast with a center filled with butter chunks and a sprinkling of jam, orange juice in a glass with dirty fingerprints and other such delicacies). It also comes with handmade cards and painted pictures. There's often a birdhouse made at school or a paper teacup with a tea bag inside or a stained glass window project. Teachers are lovely people but the same projects tend to get recycled from year to year and its hard to act too surprised when the fourth birdhouse arrives and you exclaim: "oh! How lovely!! Did you make this yourself? I'll have to put it outside next to the other birdhouses." But I don't really mind - because I like birdhouses; even rainbow colored ones (my children are not too attached to patterns).

And depending on what's happening that year, my husband will ask: Would you like a meal with or without children? Because sometimes - as much as I love my children - the way I love them best is through the living room window as I drive away. Don't get me wrong - its really nice to come back, but a few hours away at a quiet restaurant does wonders for the patience. But this year...well, this year I want to change it up a bit.

This year I want to celebrate my children.

What? Its mother's day! Its a day for mothers. Yet, without my children - I would not be a mother and being a mother was my secret wish since I was a little girl.

You see, I was this little girl who played with dolls in secret. A tomboy to the heart, I didn't like to appear weak - and cuddling a doll while wearing some pink dress would spell certain defeat when it came to the boy world. So I loved my babies in private. I would line them up carefully on my bed before I left my room. I would glance back at them lovingly from the doorway and see their sad little faces and rush back to give them one more kiss. I'd promise them we'd cuddle when I got back and then I'd run out the door to join the boys playing ball in the field.

I wanted to be a mother, a real mother to real children but as I grew up, I acted as though it was the last thing on my mind. In secret, I wrote stories of my life someday - the mundane things like getting the kids ready for school and doing their laundry and loving their father. I tucked the stories away and prayed that someday my wish would come true.

Then one day I found out I was really going to be a mother and my whole world changed. I have never been so grateful to those little beings for pulling me out of my selfish hole. The world stopped revolving around me and my petty issues.

So - this is a tribute to them, my children.

A - this beautiful blond haired, fair little nymph. Sassy and bold from the moment she arrived. She has always been one of my favorite companions. We had the greatest conversations when she was in my tummy and we lived alone, just the two of us. She was the best company when she was just a toddler and her dad worked nights. She is still fun to have along on a trip into town or a night out. She is both cursed and blessed with the gift of empathy. Since she was just a baby, she has had the ability to feel other people's emotions so strongly and I really do need to teach her some of what I've learned about that because its a pretty big burden to carry. She is wise and mature and sometimes way too serious.

G - my tiny little spiderboy. He was born still and I never got to nurse him or change him or even hold him for that long but the shell that emerged from me that quiet August night was not him. He will remain an image, a feeling, a soul to me. I imagine him always as a grown man. He is my beacon sometimes, my guardian angel or my loud slap back to reality.

J - the biggest grin surrounded by the sweetest freckles and the brightest eyes. He reminds me so much of his father. He is so sensitive and precious - I've always worried about him. His sense of humour is legendary - but he's so quick to turn on himself. I feel like his soul is made of glass and we must tread carefully. Maybe I don't give him enough credit or maybe I worry too much about repeating the mistakes my dh's parents made with him. Nonetheless, I'm not ashamed to admit that just by virtue of being my boy - he is so precious to me. I didn't think I'd get to raise a son and I thank God everyday that I got to have him in my life. When his father is gone, I will always have a reminder of who he was in my J. The same easy companionship I share with K is there with J.

E - my beauty. When I speak of the others I talk about their talents at dance or soccer or hockey or what have you and when I get to E, I'm a bit stumped. She tries lots of things, enjoys most everything, but finds her passion in nothing. She is friendly and happy and so very charming. She is a girl to the nth degree but make no mistake. She is a force to be reckoned with. A pretty dress won't stop her from climbing to the top of the monkey bars on a dare. She reminds me so much of myself. Its like looking in a mirror and more than once has stopped me in my tracks as I see her skip towards me. I'm not the only one who notices the resemblence. Its startling for many of us. E is my cuddler. She needs physical affection and touch. She is still the only one who will crawl into our bed in the middle of the night. She is also the only one of my children to have anxiety over leaving me. She tries very hard to be brave but I don't know if she's as ready to grow up as the world would like her to be.

M - she is such a mystery this one. When I was pregnant with her, I was sure she was a boy. Couldn't get a grasp of her personality and she probably liked it that way because what emerged was this little girl who is completely unafraid to stare you down or tell you what she thinks of you. Its a little unnerving for me because I would never expect such a little child to set me in my place or so strongly deny her need for me. She does not like to be kissed or hugged particularly and if she does, it will be on her terms. She does not like to be laughed at and she will tell you so. She has an intense imagination and tells such detailed stories that if I was not her mother and knew that she did not attend a school where the teacher made them stay out at recess on cold, windy days - I might really believe her. She loves to entertain herself, caught up in the world of imagination she creates - she does not leave it willingly. I often look at her and wonder - who are you and where did you come from?

These five little beings made me a mother. Thank you little beings. I do not want to love you in secret anymore. I want to be unabashedly proud. I want to praise you just for being. You are not the smartest, the prettiest, the most talented - but you are incredible, crazy, interesting people. And if I met you on the street - I would want you to be my friends because you are such cool people.