Mother's Day Eve

It's the eve of Mother's Day. 

I spent a bit of the evening speaking with my five-year old about how I'm not trying to frustrate her by not letting her spend every-waking-minute with her friend Emily. This little girl lives two houses down. The sun rises and sets with Emily according to my impressionable daughter. In fact, Morgan learned to spell my name (Emily) surprisingly early due to the fact that she writes Emily a friend letter nearly every day. 

Morgan was frustrated with me, though, because her shouts to Emily over the fence to get her to play were an exercise in futility. It could be that it was too late in the evening to play. Most likely it was that (I found out later) Emily was indoors and Morgan was shouting from two houses away from outdoors. 

*For the love of Pete*

I had Morgan come inside, sit on my lap and talked to her. 

I told her that when I was a little girl my mother seemed to always say "no". Seemed like mommies were better at saying "no" than "yes". 

As I was explaining why we couldn't always be outside or always play with neighbors, I was aware of how much I appreciate I mom. And how much MORE I appreciate her with two children as opposed to one. In fact, years from now I imagine I'll start a foundation in my mother's name when the girls are teens. The years and appreciation grow exponentially.

Being a mother, it seems to me, means spending the day weighing how to best spend time:

To read a book to child or to nap?

To exercise or spend time in prayer?

To "sneak chocolate" with daughter or to empty dishwasher? 

If life had any boundaries before children, they were washed away and made threadbare by the laughter, tears, pleadings and sighs of little ones. An hour allocated to washing the kitchen floor is loaned to a mother who needs to look long and wistfully at the pink eyelids of her sleeping baby. A stained shirt worn for 2 days straight by a weary woman is suddenly the perfect attire for attacking a puddle on the way to the mailbox. 

There are the phone calls to insurance companies, healthcare providers and schools.

There are the mountains of forms to fill out in triplicate.

The checks to be written to various foundations, committees and charities. 

And in between all the "duties"... there are the reason for the duties... the children who represent the strength of our virtues (we hope). If we're honest, we'll admit that a certain part of our parenting wants to be different from the way we were raised. And if we're blessed, we'll admit that a great deal more of the way we were raised can be imitated, passed on. 

For obvious reasons, I couldn't convey all this information to my squirming five-year old. She was still nursing her emotional wound and her ears were too small for these words.

One day I hope she'll hoist her own preschooler on her lap and tell her that, by and large, she had a good childhood and that she hopes her little one will have one as well.

One day.