Today is my mother's birthday. There's this movie Lady Bird that just came out, and it (in a revelatory way) shows the ways in which mothers organize their lives around their children, while trying to maintain a sense of self, and of dignity. When reading about Lady Bird, and in the process of becoming a mother myself, I am growing more and more appreciative of my own mother.
One of the most important insights I've had lately is about the ways in which I didn't experience my mom doing things for me that helped me, or nourished me, or silently supported me. Like, the bagged lunch. It was just made. I never saw her doing it. She never congratulated herself for it. But there it was, in my bag for school, every single day. And as a child, I had the freedom from thinking about that one part of my life.
There are so many ways in which my mother shaped me, invisibly. How she noticed things I thought I was hiding. Young adult thoughts and emotions that I might have been hiding even from myself. And, like Lady Bird, I pushed her away cruelly. I wanted autonomy, privacy, as teenagers and young adults do. But now, as a young mother, I see it all anew.
I see what it took for my mom, with very little outside help (her parents didn't live near and my father's parents were not primary caregivers in our lives), to raise three kids. My dad was away from the home one out of every three days (on a firefighter schedule), and on those days she was a single mother. I know on days with only my two kids how much I struggle without Patrick home. When I am putting one child to sleep and I hear a noise outside and I am fearful without another adult to help manage one or more ongoing situations. But she did it. And I remember my early childhood fondly. I felt so secure. She made me feel that way, invisibly.
I was so cared for, and that took so much more work than I knew. I always had dry and clean clothes, something to eat, she was always, always patient. She made us intelligent by paying attention to us, and speaking to us, and engaging with us, always. She was stable and responsible and someone I always knew I could go to when other adults or children let me down. She was reliable. And that added a rosy tint to my childhood. Being so lucky to have a reliable mother means taking her for granted. Because she was always there, you came to expect it.
When I was back in Chicago I watched my mother spend the better part of a day steaming my sister's bridesmaid gown for a wedding. And I realized in that moment, all the time she has spent doing something for us unnoticed. And all the time I now do the same. And how hard it is to be unnoticed, just to care for your kids. But the reward is worth it.
Just yesterday she sent me this message:
"Cleanse your life and fill it with genuine, interesting people that have your best interest at heart. It is just that simple. If that makes me ridiculous, I'll wear that like a badge of honor. Loving relationships are not a power play. And for goodness sake don't shed a tear or lose any sleep over small minded people, not deserving of a moment of your pain."
There she is again. Reading my emotions before I knew myself what I felt. And taking the time to articulate, and guide me when I most need it.
So, I want to take a day to notice her. To take notice. And for all of you reading to take notice of my mom, and your mom, and yourself as a mom. And all the little ways in which we can choose to build each other up without fanfare or recognition, and how my mom has spent her lifetime doing just that for me and my siblings.
I love you mamas. Happy birthday.
