I have become my mother 

I first noticed that I was doing things I said I would never do as a mother when I picked up my first born during church service one Sunday to smell his bottom. Yep. Literally, right there in front of God and everybody. 

And it was all downhill from there. I wiped runny noses with my sleeve or, when I had no sleeve, my bare hand. I used my own saliva to wash mashed carrots off of little faces and to tame wild strands of hair. And I pretended to not know what happened to their Halloween candy that I had eaten. 

But when my husband really wanted to show me how I had morphed into my mother – and what guy wouldn’t want to do that when his wife is about to unleash on the nearest living being to her – he would tell me I sounded like my mom. Yeah, that was always sure to calm me down. 

Growing up, I could never leave the table until I had eaten all my food. It didn’t matter if I genuinely didn’t like liver and onions or if I couldn’t possibly swallow another bite of peas because “children are starving in India.” (Children will still be starving in India even if I eat every bite of food on my plate, Mom.) “Children all around the world will go to bed hungry tonight and would give anything to have your vegetables.” (Let them have them. PLEASE!) My comments are in parenthesis because I would have never actually said them out loud to my mother. And yet, when my own children turned up their noses at their dinner, I reminded them of all the children who were starving in other countries. 

When I misbehaved, my mom told me to go to my room. And I would gladly obey. My room was where all my toys and games and books were. But by the time I had children, parents had wised up and the new thing was to put them in time out. My boys had to sit there for three minutes without moving or making a sound. And if that really worked – and they were still too young to tell time – I kept them there way past three minutes while I enjoyed a few extra moments of peace and quiet.  

In fact, I seemed to share a general distorted concept of time with my mom. Because when my mom and I were asked by our children to do something we didn’t want to do, what she and I really meant when we said “Just a minute” was “I hope after a minute you have forgotten about it.” 

I learned fractions from my mom at a very young age. “I’m going to give you to the count of three to come here. One. Two. Two-and-a-quarter. Two-and-a-half. …” My boys also knew they were safe to wait until the two-and-three-quarters point before they had to make a move. 

My mother’s words had the ability to fill me with fear at times. Like when she would tell me my face would freeze like that someday. And now I think how great that would have actually been. Sure, my tongue might have been permanently sticking out, but my face wouldn’t be wrinkly or spotted like it is today either. 

And yes, as a mom, I threatened to turn the car around. We all knew full well that wasn’t going to happen. I told my sons that their punishment hurt me more than it hurt them. No one believed that for a minute. But sometimes moms don’t have anything else left to say. Let’s face it – there is a reason some species eat their young. 

I remember the first time I broke my mother’s heart. I came home from playing at a friend’s house and I told her I wanted to live with my friend and her mom because her mom was “so nice.” I probably broke her heart many times before that, but that is the first time I remember making her cry. I spent the rest of her life trying not to make her cry – not necessarily a healthy thing to do – but I know I broke her heart many times after that. 

I remember the first time my heart was broken as a mother. As a stay-at-home mom, I was very active at the boys’ schools. When they were younger, I would help on the playground or in the cafeteria or at class parties. They loved seeing me there. However, I remember clearly the day that my youngest walked through the cafeteria line with the biggest grin on his face because his mommy was there. But then shortly after, his oldest brother’s class came through the line, and that son shot me a glance that said “Don’t say anything to me or let anyone know you are my mother.” All his classmates already knew I was his mom – I was the same mom from the week before. And they were all happy to see me. But my son was embarrassed. Even though I knew that day would come, I wasn’t ready for it. But, I have been happily embarrassing both of them ever since. 

Moms often get a bad rap. Except on Mother’s Day when each mom is the best mom in the world. But God created mother’s and gave them perhaps one of the most important jobs – bearing children. He made them nurturing, strong and wise … and perfect. It was Adam and Eve that made them all sinners. And yet, God still chose a mother as the means to send us the Savior of the world. 

The importance of mothers can be seen in the way we have referenced her in our language. Think of the protection of mother hens and mother bears, the importance of mother boards and mother lodes, the origins in our motherland and our mother language. We refer to giving and caring women as Mother Teresas, wise and mentoring women as Mother Superiors, and, yes, bad moms as Mommy Dearest. And when we want to refer to something as the utmost, whether it be storms or surprises or events, we call it the mother-of-all. 

I was asked recently what the best job I ever had was. That answer is easy. It is being a mom. And then I was promoted to mother-in-law and then grandmother. I am blessed to have experienced motherhood as both someone who had a mother and someone who is a mother. And I can tell you that neither one of us was a perfect mother. My mom was certainly no June Cleaver and neither am I. But then, who is? (You younger readers can google that reference.)

But I am who I am today – good and bad – in large part because of the mother I had – good and bad. I believe our parents are chosen specifically for us. Your mom may be biological, adoptive, a grandmother who raised you, a mother-figure in your life, a father who had to assume the role of both parents, or a mother who died too soon. Mother’s Day may even be hard for someone who, by all standards, has a bad mom. Maybe she is abusive, or negligent, or absent. But God still gave you to her. Maybe if for no other reason than to give you the chance to show her unconditional love. The love the Father has for you.

My mom, and maybe yours, too, did so much for her children. She had many sleepless nights when we were infants, when we were sick, and when we were teenagers. Especially when we were teenagers. She learned how to do everything one-handed. While she held us in one arm, she cooked, cleaned, and managed the house with her other. She made sure we were fed and sheltered and clothed. She carried a small grocery store, pharmacy and toy store with her wherever she went. She tried keeping us entertained and happy. She answered endless questions of “Why?” And she got us to school every day and church every week. 

Moms pick us up when we fall. They bandage our scraped knees and kiss our bumped heads. They mend our broken hearts with their love and our pain becomes theirs. They cry for us when we hurt and they cry for us when we are happy. They are proud of us when we excel and they are proud of us for trying. They introduce us to the good that life has to offer and they try to protect us from the bad. They pray for us. They stand by us when no one else will and they love us when no one else can.  

So, on this Mother’s Day, if you are blessed to still have your mom, I hope you will honor her. If you can, visit her. If you can’t, call her. I think I can speak for all moms when I say that card she will get in the mail on Saturday will not hold her through Mother’s Day Sunday. So tell her you love her. Honor her. Make her feel special on the day set aside to make her feel special. Why, you ask? Because I said so.  Oh, sorry. That’s another motherism. Then honor her because it’s one of the commandments. Do it because God said so. 

Mom on my last Mother’s Day with her 

Author: hemmerhaging

I am a wife of one man, mother of two sons and two daughters-in-law, and Pama to nine grandchildren. And I am a child of the one true God. View all posts by hemmerhaging