Do Something Fun

Barely able to contain her excitement at mama’s reaction, I watched my Sweetgirl out of the corner of my eye, yesterday, as I opened her Mother’s Day gift to me.  I unwrapped a lovingly made preschool painted print of her hand as a tree and her fingerprints as the flowers. Beautiful.  Then, I unrolled this interview paper:

Roo_Interview_PreK_Missindeedy

I’m thrilled beyond belief to know that I’m still in my first decade of life, and that she recognized my deep and abiding love for ice cream. However, do you see that arrow up there on the left?  I had to work so stinkin’ hard not to cry when I got to that line.

Immediately, I started wondering what mental image, of me, my children will take into their adulthood’s.  “She doesn’t do anything for fun.”? OUCH!

Oh, how I want them to remember that mama did indeed have fun doing this most difficult and important job. Most of all? I want them to recall a mother who enjoyed being their mama.

The word “intentional” comes to mind here.  If that is truly how I want to shape their memories, then I do believe I’m going to have to do a little less of the head-down-finger-dance on the keyboard and a little more of this:

boogie_board_missindeedyThat is my mothering goal, moving forward.  It turns out that my Mother’s Day gift was a lesson.   One I’ve heard before, but clearly forgotten.

“Good, better, best;never let it rest.
Until your best is better, and your better is your best.”

If you’ll excuse me,  it’s time to go do something fun.

Be a mama to the two sweetest kidlets I know.

Yes indeedy.

Have You Called Your Mother?

Mother_Call_Her_Missindeedy

The Nana and I have fought, and hard, for our relationship over these last 40 some-odd years.  It’s been worth it.

Where we are now?  It’s a good place.

There was a period of time, an altogether-too-long period of years, where my mama would be the last person I’d call for advice, comfort, or inspiration to carry on.   Is that a harsh thing for some of you mothers to read?  I’m sorry.  It is a true story.  One that, I hope, makes what I write next, about my mom, all the sweeter.

Ours is a relationship redemption story, if there ever was one.

Walking down that road of pending motherhood, I realized that all of these hopes and dreams that I had for my own sweet children, were tied up tightly with every fiber of my being. And that was a frightening revelation, a scary prospect, and a depressing way to behold the future of my children. Does that make sense to some of you? The thought overpowered me that, “I was only going to be able to do the best that I could with what I had.”

Sadness permeated my heart at that thought, followed by no small amount of resentment.  I didn’t feel like my mother had prepared me for this mighty job that I now had.

And, at that point in our relationship, I didn’t feel that I could or would ask her for her help. Nor did I think, for a moment, that she would have any constructive or encouraging words of wisdom to share.

Redemption sometimes comes unexpectedly. As I lay with my firstborn nursing him in the wee hours one morning, it dawned on me that my mama truly did do the very best that she could with what she had.

That brought a softening to my heart.  And, ultimately, opened the door to some Grand Scale Healing in our relationship.

Is it sunshine and unicorns now?

Nope.

It is progress.  And Love.  It’s a blooming friendship built on the hope of continued trust and a committment to slather on the grace whenever and wherever.  It’s all of these things, and so many more, wrapped up together to strengthen the fibers of my being.

And, hopefully, hers too.

Now?  I do ask her. All the time, it seems, I ask her what she thinks I should do, could I have handled this better, which outfit should I wear to this event. It’s almost like these last 8 years or so, we’ve been making up for lost time, cramming each interaction with as much mother-daughter love as it can possibly hold.

And I am deeply grateful.

My mother, The Nana, my mama?  She is a gift to me; a precious gift that truly does keep on giving, with each new day that we spend knowing that we are mother and her daughter.  This redeemed relationship is a gift from the God who sees; and isn’t afraid to reach right in and continue to draw us closer to one another, and to Him.

Dear Mama,

I love you.  I’m so glad you’re MY mom. 

Now, turn on your phone, you’re about to receive a call.

Love,

Pooh

She Comes By It Naturally…

She does indeed.  My precocious three-year old, Sweetgirl, comes by her need to have everything “matchy-matchy” naturally.  Why am I surprised by this?  One of the very things that used to drive my own mama insane was my inability to wear an outfit in pieces that weren’t matching down to the very fiber of their hue.  And this from a young girl who was no fashion plate, I  assure you.  Oh, I tried – yes indeedy.  When that whole neon jelly bracelet, legging, big shirt thing came along, I was right in the thick of it.  Honestly, I did my level best to tamp down the outright need to have the shade of green  in my pants match some noticeable shade in my top.  Then my poor mother would come along and suggest a cuter piece to pair with one or the other; a pair, mind you, that did NOT match. And I would have none of it.  I’m pretty sure that my mom thought I had a disease.  She knew it wasn’t nurture, that’s for darn sure!

Now, here I sit, with a 3-year-old dictating which leggings she will tolerate with what dress because “See mama?  Deese leggings go wif the little lollipop on my dress!”.  Why yes indeedy, Sweetgirl, they surely do.  How very exciting.  And aggravating.  And perspective-giving.  I now understand why my own mother despairs, to this day, of getting me an outfit that hasn’t already been coordinated and approved by the very Garanimals, themselves (although, at this stage, I would prefer that Tim Gunn coordinated the outfit – I’ve sort of outgrown the Garanimals.)

Clearly, she comes by it naturally.   Poor thing…