Two days ago was, “Mother’s Day.” A sweet Sunday set aside to honor the women in our lives that have sacrificed, loved, and nurtured us throughout the years. All the women who set their hearts out onto the battlefield called life; kissing boo-boos on bended knee, smeared with the ricochet of projectile puke, droll, and stool; fight tooth and nail advocating for their children, at school, the doctors, on the little league field, monitoring the playground. Eyes in the back of her head. A single stare that speaks a thousand words. Ode to the mamas.
The mothers that sort and fold the laundry, pack the lunches, bathe the kids, sort the homework, sign the field trip forms, write a note to the teacher, make the coffee, walk the dog, assure the teeth are brushed, the hair combed, the ears cleaned, the dog is fed, the dog is IN the house, the flat iron is off, the lap top is packed; all before 7am. Every morning.
Only to come home; after working all day, to: make snacks, sign the field trip forms, assure homework is completed, assure that homework is completed well, sign the assignment books, make a run to the grocery store, Walgreens, make a phone call to a friend or family member to momentarily help restore sanity, sift through school bulletins, announcements, perhaps journal articles, professional development, complete homework for Grad classes, sweep, do dishes, grade papers, plan lessons, sort through mail, attend to bills, bathe child, assure teeth are brushed, read with child, tuck child into bed. Move towards bed…Fall into coma as random, mindless reality show or news broadcast plays futilely in the background, with thoughts of tomorrow’s agenda already scrolling through consciousness. Am I missing something? Of course I am. There are too many to count.
There are many nights I have laid in bed, staring into the darkness at the vacant ceiling, wondering where and how I have fallen short. Spread thin. I would estimate at least once or twice a week I drive away from my house asking myself, “Did I turn off the flat iron?” …”Did I let the dog back in?” …”Is the stove off?” …”Is my house going to blow up?”
WHAT AM I MISSING??
Mothers are beautiful, soft, strong, tenacious characters, deep with unconditional love with the potential to move mountains. On this day, however, I’d like to give a special tribute. I’d like to honor the secret weapon not many dare to speak of. There may be a stigma attached, people may turn away, ashamed and afraid, but today? I am putting it on blast.
Thank you MomADD. Cracked cum Madre. Mama Go Loca.
To the brink of losing your mind and beyond.
True stories. Some mine. Some others. All true. All heroic in their own ignited, united lunacy.
Here’s to the mom that goes to work and realizes that they’ve put their shirt on, inside out.
Here’s to going to work and coming to the realization that your shirt is on backwards.
To realizing you forgot to brush your teeth. Put on a lick of makeup.
That nice hot cup of coffee? Oh.. it was on the roof of the car.
Here’s to hopping into the shower, in the dark still comfort of the morning hours, serene and secure, and realizing in slow, cruel horror that, your bra is still on.
Here’s to forgetting passwords to your countless online accounts; all the time. Over and over.
Here’s to wiping your kids chocolate smeared face – with your own hand, when you suddenly realize the damage and havoc a tiny, innocent-enough looking piece of chocolate can cause on your kid’s face- JUST as you pull up to a family or community event. You’re wiping- and- Oh! There it goes. With your own saliva. How disgusting is that? Did you ever think you’d be THAT mom? You probably are. Happens to the best of us.
Here’s to going to a Yo Gabba Gabba concert with your 3 year old- and liking it.
The Wiggles? Here’s to knowing every word to every song.
Here’s to realizing you have been watching Max and Ruby, when your child has been asleep for a half hour.
Here’s to the mom that wants so badly to stand up the doctor, and rehearses their “speech” countless times in the car, while brushing teeth, driving, until the perfect time arises to confront them with the issue.
Here’s to the mom that tells their child to, “stop being an asshole.” And then feel guilty for days.
Here’s to the mom that tells her child as a punishment, “You have to wash your fathers feet,” when they are clearly at the end of their rope.
Here’s to being the mom that forgot to sign her kid up for little league.
That brought their kid to the wrong field.
To the dance recital, at the wrong time.
Here’s to the mom that stuck it to the other mom that talked down to her kid at the little league game. She deserved it.
Here’s to the mom that left her lap top on, which allowed her 3 year old to purchase a weekend in Lake Geneva on Living Social.
Here’s to the mom that stops talking to her friends, because she knows their lives and priorities are not going in the same direction.
Here’s to the mom that reads that extra chapter at night, even if she is dead tired, dead sad, or dead frustrated.
Here’s to the mom that puts on the brave face. Who, smiles when frustrated, hugs when privately hurting, who laughs when silently losing her mind.
The secret trait Hallmark will never applaud in their loving tributes is MomADD; the ability for the mind to go in 12 different directions at once, the trait that allows mamas to go from fire breathing dragons, “Put that down right now!” to soft angelic nurturers, “Did you hurt yourself baby?” all while stirring dinner on the stove, talking to a friend on the phone, and penciling in events onto the calendar. Meanwhile, taking note that the knives need to be sharpened, dish soap needs to be bought, and the family needs more Vitamin C. Jot down oranges and pineapple onto the grocery list.
This is pretty magnificent, and it surely does not get enough recognition. How do Mom’s do it? Where there’s a will, there’s a way. As I get older, I have realized, “Mama Go Loca,” is something of a secret weapon. Some might call it a weakness, I call it a gift. The gift to do insanely crazy things in an effort to manage way more than any one person is ever intended to. To stretch yourself so thin- something’s gotta give. At some point, you have to laugh. You have to break. You have to accept the spilt milk, the stained couch, the missed practice, the puke on your new white shirt. There is no perfection. No perfect way, manual, or method. There is just a woman, doing the best she can, a woman and her will, the will of her children. You have to hand it to the crazy mamas. I know I am proud of mine; who btw, is the lovely mom that told her daughter to wash her father’s feet as a punishment. And furthermore, I am honored to carry that torch on. I will bear my bra in the shower proudly.