On Mother's Day

Courtesy of Benson A

There is a saying about motherhood, and its originator is unknown, that goes like this:

A mother is always the beginning.

She is how things begin.

It's a simple truth. Who we are begins with our mothers and today, we celebrate mothers. 

Today, I celebrate and honor my mother who taught me to serve others, to work hard, and to, to what I am sure is her eternal regret, speak my mind. I celebrate the gajillion chances she given me to improve. I'm grateful for our phone conversations that we have several times a week, even if they sometimes end at loggerheads (thanks Obfuscation Fox News for absolutely nothing on that one). I'm proud of my mom for how she's lived her life since my dad has died. She continues to surprise me.

Today, I celebrate and honor my wife, the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML. The lives of our three children began with her. Those three are who they are because of her. They got the best of her in every aspect of their lives. Arguably, they got the best of me, too, but their mother's best parts helps them shine in spite of my contributions. Each one of our children are making their worlds better because of the example of their mother. She's amazing and I'm just grateful that she still wants to hang out with me.

Today, I laugh with my oldest daughter as she mothers her two children. Earlier this week, she shared with us the Mothers Day questionnaire that our nearly four year old boss of a grandson completed at pre-school. It is everything. It is the classic thinking of a pre-schooler.

In his mind, his mother is 17, which must be like 40 in pre-school years, because they don't watch TV to speak of in their house so I know he's not been sneaking old episodes of "16 and Pregnant." Also, I fear that my being 50ish is something he can't even comprehend. He must think I'm as old as dirt.

That he is always being told to "clean up stuff" and that when he doesn't obey upsets her is proof positive that his mom and his grandmother are cut from the same cloth.

The he doesn't think she's not good at "going upstairs" is proof that his mom is also just like me, her father. She would be wise to also master going down the stairs, as we know I'm seriously challenged in this arena.

That "she puts food on (his) fork for (him)" and that he wants to give her magnets is proof that a child's love for his mother is simple, beautiful, and just a little mysterious. Magnets? I've got to get to the bottom of this.

One thing I know is this - whether a mother has mastered loading up a child's fork with food or has told her for the billionth time to clean up her room or reminds her middle-aged son to remember who he is and to drive carefully, in spite of the fact that he's been driving for nearly thirty five years, a mother's love knows no end. I'm grateful for it.

Happy Mothers Day to all those who have mothered me. I'm better for it.

So this happened on Mothers Day

Those smiles. Those faces. 

During the years that a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints serves, they are permitted to call home twice a year. They call home on Christmas and Mothers Day. With the advent of the interwebs,  it's safe to say that the vast majority of those calls are on the Skype or one of its competitors. So we were pretty excited about the chance we had to see and hear from TMFKATB.

Suffice to say, our 45 minute call with him was the highlight of the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML's day. Breakfast in bed and me cooking dinner paled, and rightly so, in comparison to getting to spend some time with TMFKATB. Even better was being able to patch in the Awesomes and CAL. Being all together, even it was via Skype, was truly a little bit of heaven and sure made us excited for the time, which is rapidly approaching, when we will all be together again. We had a lot of fun talking to him. His accent is, well, pretty Cholo / Ese, if I'm being honest. That, of course, led to a lot of good-natured teasing. He also informed us that his beard is now fierce and that he almost has to shave twice a day (hyperbole..yes, please). He also informed us that since being in Utah, his GI system has never betrayed him or, how do I put this delicately (let's face it, I don't), his underwear. Good to know.

In addition to those gems, he told us of his love for his service and the people he's working with. He smiled continually as he spoke of what he's doing. It was good to see him so happy. He followed that up today with a brief letter, given that we'd spoken last night. In this week's letter, he mentioned some of the challenges of keeping his zone focused on goals and his faith that this week would be even better work-wise. He believes that they will see miracles. He's a young man of enormous faith. I trust he'll see success.

What a great way to end Mothers Day. We saw our boy. We had our family together virtually. We gratefully counted our blessings as we called it a very good day.

On Mothers Day

In the run up to Mothers Day, I've been thinking a bit about this quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson. I've been asking my middle-aged self if I am the man my mother wants me to be. In spite of the fact that I am thisclose to turning 50, Mom is still mothering me, trying to mold me into being a better man.

Since my father died seven years ago (side note - how has it been seven years already?), there is much in the dynamic between my mom and I that has changed. As that shift has led to myriad discussions about her life and her experiences, I have learned so much more about her and the reservoirs of strength that she possesses that I often didn't see as I was growing up. I see it so much more clearly now. She will be a mother forever. As far as I can tell, she will never stop reminding me to drive carefully, to remember who I am, or that I married up (significantly). She will never stop panicking when she hears about bad weather wherever it is we are living. She will never stop worrying that every flight I board is going to be the target of the next terrorist event. And can I just say no thanks to Fox News for endlessly feeding those fears....

Conversations with my mom - even the ones that don't always end well (ladies and gentlemen, I give you our last discussion about the U.S. Presidential campaign) - are ones that I cherish. In each of them, I am reminded that I still need to be the man my mother raised me to be. I know that I am lucky  to still have those conversations. I don't take that for granted.

I get to hear the conversations my wife, the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML, has with our children. We live so far away from our children and she doesn't take her conversations with our children for granted either. She talks frequently with our daughters and I see her mothering them in each of those conversations. Although her conversations with TMFKATB right now are limited to weekly emails (except today - Skype's taking a beating today as missionaries from around the world get to call their moms!), she mothers him in each of those exchanges as well. She loves each of our children fiercely and yet has given each of them the self-confidence to live their lives to the fullest. My children are who they are because of their amazing mother.

I am indebted to the women, as mothers or mothers-to-be, who have made my life what it is and there are not enough words to express my gratitude.

To my mother-in-law for raising an amazing daughter who decided it might be fun to take me on as a husband and partner
To my daughter, Our Lady of Awesome, for blazing your own trail as you mother our two grandchildren
To my daughter, CAL, for incorporating what you learned from your mother as you embark on a career making the lives of terribly ill children better
To my wife for, well, everything. It rare that words fail me but I find it most difficult to express what you've done as a mother to our children. You amaze me every day.
To my mother for still raising me, even to this day. I'm a better man for it. And I can't thank you enough for conversations like this:



Mothers. They rule.

Happy Mothers Day

Labor

@simpsons.wikia.com

Let's talk briefly about labor. Not the labor associated with Labor Day, rather the labor that precedes the birth of a baby.

My firstborn, Our Lady of Awesome, is due to deliver her second baby in the next few days. The stunningly patient and mighty fine SML and I will become grandparents for the second time. Suffice to say, we are excited. SML has already made her way to the Zion Curtain and will be there when the baby arrives.

It seems only appropriate that mother and daughter are together during this most momentous event. To call it a shared experience seems like a bit of an understatement. I remember being at my wife's side as she went into labor at the Utah Valley Regional Birthing Bonanza for the first time when she delivered our first-born daughter. I had never seen such strength (it put any moment of male strength to shame), nor had I seen such immediate radiant love the moment that little girl was placed in her arms. That moment confirmed what kind of a mother she would be and I knew she would be there for her daughter and the other children that would come and she has been. She'll be there to share some of that strength she mustered all those years ago when she labored to deliver the daughter she'll be supporting in just a couple of days. They will share that strength.

"There is a secret in our culture, and it's not that birth is painful.

It's that women are strong." - Laura Stavoe Harm

That strength is amazing. It is inspiring. It binds mother and child. It is love. It is incredible.