Today I leave for a long weekend with my mom. It’s our Mothers Day present to each other. No kids, just each other for a quick getaway. I’m more excited than I can express. I will miss my husband and sons but will treasure a couple of days on my own. Besides, I adore time alone with my mom.
In celebration, I am sharing an essay I wrote in 2004. This essay was published in the May 2004 issue of Chicago Parent magazine. I wrote it before I had my third child. My world was so different, but the sentiment remains.
I hope you enjoy this post and I wish much happiness and love to all the mothers and grandmothers out there.
How can I be jealous of Mima time?
It’s been three years since my older son’s birth and I still have a hard time believing that Mother’s Day has anything to do with me. As each May approaches I consider ways I can make the day special for my mom. Since I have toddlers, going out for a crowded brunch is not a relaxing idea for anyone, so I host a brunch at my house. I prepare all week-carefully choosing a menu, thoroughly cleaning our house, arranging beautiful flowers, setting the table with china and crystal.
My friends think I’m crazy. Aren’t I supposed to be taking the day off? But she’s my mom, my best friend. For almost 30 years she was the most important person in my life. I want this lovely day for both of us. So the stage is set. The music is playing. In she comes, full of compliments about the table setting and delicious aromas. But before I can even offer her a cup of coffee, my boys are clamoring for all of her attention. They drag her off to the playroom where she happily builds animal parades, puts together puzzles and colors pictures all morning.
I watch from the dining room because when “Mima” is over I’m pretty much invisible anyway. I marvel at what an amazing grandmother she is, especially considering that she doesn’t come close to fitting the gray-haired, cookie-baking mold. But she excels in the endless gifts, pockets full of candy and zero discipline departments. It is no wonder my sons adore her.
Even as I observe them together, grateful my sons are so blessed, I am jealous. On the inside I’m yelling, “I want my mommy.” I admit it. I want that radiant attention focused squarely on me. Not that she doesn’t try. I am never forgotten or ignored. She is always there for me when I need her and she never fails to know what I need before I do. Still, as I watch her with my kids I am aware that I have lost “Mommy” forever now that she is “Mima.”
I know I shouldn’t complain. My children are lucky to have her. I’m lucky to have her. I still can’t help feeling the twinge of resentment when she takes their side over mine. The issues are minor-candy before lunch or one more video before leaving- but still…aren’t mothers supposed to defend their own children above all else? How did I become the odd mom out?
She would argue that by “occasionally” siding with the boys she is supporting me, because her attention and spoiling take some of the pressure off of me. And she would be right. As much as I might resent her apparent shift in loyalty, I depend on her presence in our lives.
In fact, it’s rare if the boys and I go a whole week without seeing her. We generally spend Saturdays on “Mima adventures,” which might be a trip to the conservatory, museum or even an amusement park.
Occasionally I even make plans to meet her on my own for coffee or some shopping. I remember the first time I showed up for coffee without the baby in tow. The first words out of her mouth were, “Where’s the baby?”
I was so disappointed, not just at the realization that I was not the only light of my mother’s eye. I also wanted her to share in my excitement over having a couple hours with no crying, diapers or spit-up. As the boys have grown, she’s acknowledged my need to just be with her alone. Still, I’m more careful to warn her in advance when it will just be me. It saves us both the initial disappointment.
It’s strange that becoming a mother in no way diminished my need for my mother. I thought it would, like a membership to some exclusive club of strong, self-confident women. If anything, motherhood makes me more aware-emotionally, intellectually and physically-of the job she has done.
I wonder if it’s true that we all turn into our parents. It’s hard to believe at this stage. I remember the mom of my childhood as being fun, filled with ideas for outings and art projects, never disciplining us or raising her voice and always, always keeping us neat and clean. It’s with these ideals in mind that I strive to be a great mother. I can’t help making the comparisons between us.
To my mom’s credit, she rarely offers unsolicited advice on how to parent. She listens and sympathizes, offers alternatives when I’m frustrated, and praises often. In other words, she mothers me.
I’m sure that with each passing year, Mother’s Day will begin to feel more real to me. I will continue to watch my mother and my children share an unbreakable bond, probably continue to be envious. But I’ll also know that I am a link in that chain, adored by both generations.
I can sip my coffee, surrounded by crystal, china and lovely flowers, knowing I receive the ultimate Mother’s Day gift every day. I am loved.
- Michelle Obama salutes her mom at Mothers Day event (politico.com)