Being the Mom (the 2015 Version)

I have been a mother now for almost half of my life and pretty much all of my adult life. I have gone from Mommy… to Mom… to MOTHER!!... to Cyndie (cuz sometimes I don’t respond to the word Mom at all.)

It is the most arduous, challenging, and rewarding thing I have ever done. Or will ever do.

I know that the point of Mother’s Day is to recognize and show our appreciation for moms, but I like to use the time to reflect on what it means to me to be a mother. There are really no words to describe the feelings, responsibilities, drama, guilt and honor associated with being a mom. But I am going to give it my best effort.

So here is a list of just a few things that capture the essence of what it means to me.

Being a Mom Means:

*Letting someone use your gym water bottle. To catch a roly-poly in.

*Sharing. First your body. Then your food. Then your clothes.

*Having an awesome jetted tub that you never have a chance to use. That is always full of Hot Wheels.

*Learning how to have a complete mental breakdown in 3 minutes or less. Because that is all the time you ever have alone.

*Maybe reusing an old science fair project once or twice. Because you just cannot do another one.

*Never getting to eat your own candy.

*Knowing every word to every theme song of every PBS Kids show that has ever been on. From Dragon Tales to Arthur to Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood.

*Wanting to inflict actual physical harm on an animated character named Caillou. And his equally horrible animated parents.

*Never having a remote control with the battery cover still on it. 

*Being the person who most of the time knows nothing at all.

*Never getting to make spaghetti because all of your kids hate it.

*Knowing the horror of finding a booger wall on the inside of your pantry.

*Hiding soda like it’s contraband…to no avail because your children have the K9 abilities of drug-sniffing dogs.

*Never knowing what it might be like to walk barefoot through your house without stepping on a Lego.

*Putting the pillows back on the couch an average of about 23,694 times. A month.

*Sometimes finding an exploded soda or Barbie or tractor or a lump of asphalt. In your freezer.

*Buying endless amounts of fundraiser cookie dough. And then wanting to make cookies with it, but always finding the box demolished and emptied like a horde of starving rodents chewed through it.

*Knowing that laundry is like gremlins. And it somehow multiplies when you get it wet.

Of course, it also means:

*Being forgiven every day for messing up. And then getting to try again the next day.

*Getting to be there for someone else’s first…almost everything.

*Being the person that sometimes knows everything.

*Every now and then having a little person say or do (or write or draw) just the right thing, at just the right time.

*Being the one they want to snuggle after a hard day.

*Getting to watch the Backyardigan’s Robot Rampage as many times as you want. Because they like it as much as you do.

*Being the one your children count on. For everything.

*Being absolutely amazed at the incredible people your children are turning out to be.

*Knowing what it is like to love and be loved entirely and unconditionally.

Is the first list longer than the second? Admittedly. And it often seems like motherhood is more a comedy of errors and terrors than anything else. The rewards are few and far between. The sheer effort: mindblowing. It will break your heart. It will shatter your self-confidence. It will sometimes bleed you dry.

But is it worth absolutely every second?  You bet your stretch-marked a#$ it is.

Happy Mother’s Day.