Mommyontheboysturf with her three sons

Mommyontheboysturf with her three sons

Monday, May 13, 2013

Mother's Day 101

     If I could, I'd gather all my sisters, new-mom friends, and teach a class on Mother's Day.   Mother's Day 101.  I'm no expert. Yesterday marked a DECADE of Mothers' Days for me.  But it was the best one yet.  Why?  I had no expectations.  Not LOW expectations.  I wasn't lowering the bar at all. I just didn't have any.  I've been to The school of Perfection and it always ends with a failing grade. 

Love is messy.
Motherhood is messy.
Therefore, Mother's Day is messy.  Noisy.  Squeaky. Squabbly.  Untidy. Crumbly.  

    Kids wake up on Mother's Day. Therefore, they eat, use the bathroom, perhaps get sick, spill, and act like children. They should.  Mother's Day is no exception. 

     A 4:45 awakening was the first mis-hap of the day.  Mother's Day is a day that I should sleep in!  Praying, planning, running, and showering before my boys even stirred in their slumber. Babyboy stumbled into the bathroom, half-asleep, "Mommy, I LOVE YOU! Today is Mother's Day, but I am not eating breakfast in MY bed," he leakily spoiled the first "surprise".   Moments later I climbed back into bed like a drama queen pretending I hadn't been up yet.  Middleson brought the menu.  Babyboy delivered the first of many cards, and Oldest laid in bed next to me, too sleepy to participate in Mother's Day Breakfast in Bed.  
*Please note that I should have checked the box marked, more coffee.

     Breakfast in bed = breakfast on the counter, breakfast on the floor, breakfast IN the bed. Breakfast breakfast everywhere.  

     I heard the chaos of too many hands and feet in the kitchen. Trying to find food in foreign territory. My territory.  My land where I know where every little thing is.  Tiny feet carrying shaky trays up the stairs.  Fire alarm ringing.  I smile.  One boy still rebelling against Daddy's request to help.  Middleson joining me in my bed with crumbly toast and pasty oatmeal.  I envision bedtime later that night with oatmeal in my hair.  But, this is fun. Yes, it really is.  The discarded tray on the floor by my bed, the one with leftover ketchup, becomes a perfect target for Babyboy's foot.  He smeared the ketchup on my carpet like a farmer with his muddy boots.  I laughed.  I belly laughed!  Ironically the same weekend we tiled the master bathroom floor, the carpet is streaked with red.  I couldn't stop laughing.  THIS is Mother's Day!  The mess. The crumbs.  The noise.  The pictures that I want so perfect to portray that my boys don't burp, or fight, or complain on Mother's Day. The pictures that show me smiling, never a frustration or ruffle in my feathers.  

      Mommy and her boys. Dressed to match. Ready to smile. But, one is sneezing. One is monkeying. Another tantruming. I just want one picture with smiles.  We can't seem to pull it off.   Finally, we get a few, but not without the threat of frowning on their next Birthday pictures.   

     Piling into the van for church in a white skirt.  Mother's Day white skirts cause stress.  When in doubt, when parading in the grass for pictures, always wear the LBD - little black dress.  They camouflage mud and spills.   Home again, sent back to bed to wait for Mother's Day lunch.

     Alarm ringing, part II.  This time it doesn't quit.  Clinging, clanging of dishes, little boys working hard for me.  I hear it all. I picture my kitchen a complete disaster and then I take a deep breath because kitchens can be cleaned. This day is MORE about THEM getting to love me without my rules, and my boundaries, and my lectures.    

     I came to lunch, alarm still ringing.  Loud. Windows opened to release the smoke.  I'm cold.  I partake the fabulously presented meal in front of me.  I prayed the alarm would stop.  We talked loud and even on Mother's Day I corrected some less than ideal manners. The alarm finally stopped.  After we are done (delicious and beautifully plated, puts my meals to shame), everything in me wants to help with clean-up. Daddy, whisks me out of the kitchen again. My clean-up is quick and thorough.  Their clean-up is partial, long, and full of reminding.  But they loved me by removing me from my normal routine.  

     And back to bed again to wait for gluten free sugar cookies, delivered with milk and smiles.  A lazy shmazy lay-around afternoon for this always-moving, producing, mommy. It was wonderful!  

      Mother's Day will only be quiet and clean when those that call me MOMMY are gone.  Will I be content with the card in the mail or long for the days of crazy, chaotic, crumbly Mothers' Days of years past?   The monkey pictures will mean more than the poised one where life looks serene.  

     I can't help but think of the women with the alabaster jar.  She broke the jar at Jesus' feet. Did she have a Dyson near by to clean up the broken glass.  Did Jesus chastise her for making a mess?  Was the smell overpowering?  And, the waste she was accused of!  My, my, my.  It was messy.  Loving Jesus, her Savior, with everything meant breaking out of normal and causing a scene.  The same can be said of the ULTIMATE act of  love at Calvary.  Surrounded by imperfection, messes, noise, cries, sickness, and sin.  Grace covered it all.  Love covers messes.  

     Yesterday, in all their imperfection, I received the wonderful gift of love from the treasures God has blessed me with.  In the messes, I saw their love, in the noise, I heard their love.  The fire alarm rang loud and clear to remind me that I was OUT of the kitchen and loved loudly.

     That's what I'd say to those around me if I could teach Mother's Day 101.  Sometimes love is written most powerfully in untidy ways.  And that's okay. That's the way to celebrate Mother's Day.

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