Issue 41: In Case No One's Told You Lately
You're doing a great job.
Last night I was scrolling through Instagram and was bombarded by Mother’s Day everything—ideas for how to spend the day, memes of doofus dads getting it wrong, sentimental poems about motherhood, op-eds on the fraught nature of the holiday at large. As my thumb flicked the screen and my eyes grazed over the content in front of me, I felt a pit in my stomach grow: this holiday isn’t for me at all.
Deep in trenches of motherhood, most days I fall asleep feeling like I’ve failed my kids in one way or another—and that, quite frankly, I’m not that great at this mothering thing. Most days it’s something small, like rushing out of the preschool yard in the morning a little too quickly without proper goodbyes. Other days it’s ending the evening wishing I could take one giant inhale and put back into my mouth the unbridled impatience and unfair reactions unfurled from places that actually had nothing to do with my kids at all. This week it was the forgotten teacher’s appreciation gifts, an unanswered kid’s birthday invitation, a half-hearted and thus unsuccessful potty training attempt. I lay awake in bed recounting my missteps before drifting off, eyes heavy from remorse and the longing to do it better tomorrow.
In the moments I’m able to see my mothering objectively, I can see that I’m a good mom. I remind myself that I’m attuned to their unique interests, their worries, their fears and their tiny, growing dreams. I tuck gummy bears in lunch boxes and make their stuffies talk in silly voices. I let them see me cry when I’m sad and teach them how feelings work in all the messy ways feelings work. I make a point to show them repair after arguments. I scour the internet for the best scorpion printable to color, and pull all the dresses from the drawer until the twirliest one has been unearthed. I hug them tight after lights off and never walk out of the room without telling them how much I love them. I always go back for one more hug when one of us needs it.
I could make a list of these things and it would likely fill many pages, and yet: I will never stop wondering if my mothering deserves merit. It’s a tumbleweed of mangled branches, soft threads and sharp points, simply surviving from one plain to the next, desperate to arrive having done the least amount of damage along the way.
With little kids it’s nearly impossible to see the fruits of your labor; they’re still so much in transition from complete dependency to only slightly less dependency that we, as mothers, can’t even make out the hazy outlines of our accomplishments thus far. The tantrums wage on, the same battles fought on loop. How do we mark our victories while we’re still at war?
I remember once, reading some sort of advice column where a mother wrote in asking how she would know if she was making the right decision for her child. The columnist said something obvious but profound: the fact that you’re even wondering if you’ve made the right decision is evidence that you have; you care so deeply that it will all stand right-side up in the end.
I wonder if I’ll start wearing Mother’s Day with more ownership and pride as the years go by. If, somehow, I’ll be able to delight in my successes not due to lack of mistakes made, but in spite of them. That maybe, with any luck, I’ll look back and see the path I walked not littered with should-haves and what-ifs but with stones skipped and hills climbed, shards of once-sharp glass made smooth from walking the rough terrain with hope and determination and grace.
The other day, a friend wished me a happy Mother’s Day and gave me a big hug. I pulled away to wish her the same and asked if she’d get some time to rest this weekend. She shrugged wordlessly and I could tell tears were waiting just below the surface. I pulled her back in and squeezed a little harder, held on a little longer. This is motherhood, I think: moving from one minute to the next, keeping ourselves steady, while so much swirls inside of us, invisible.
Earlier this week we celebrated my son’s 5th birthday. It was a scramble of confetti French toast at 7am, the putting together of a new play structure to surprise him with after school, a mess of cake-making to be ready by 4pm. We pulled it off, and he was over-the-moon excited. At the end of the day, Kyle sat next to me on the couch, and told me you did really great job making this day special. Just those few words meant so much to me. Maybe I am doing okay, I thought to myself. If I could go back to that moment with my friend, I’d say just one thing, in case she hadn’t heard it from someone in awhile: you are doing a great job.
I’m not sure what your plans are for Mother’s Day, if you have plans at all. Maybe you’ll eat cold eggs in bed (lovingly) cooked by your kids, or you’ll be able to take a long walk alone somewhere quiet. Maybe you’ll spend the day with your own mom, or missing your mom, or wishing things were different with your mom. Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to have an adventure with your mom friends. Maybe it will feel full or maybe it will feel lonely. I hope you can put aside the worries and the self-doubt for the day and recognize how many times you show up, over and over again, every single day, for your kids. And in case you need one extra reminder, know this to be true: you are doing a really great job.
Worth Clicking: Sara Petersen, In Pursuit of Clean Countertops
This is Sara’s third annual roundup of truly despicable Mother’s Day ads. You’ll laugh until you cry. A favorite every year!
Worth Listening: Ada Limon, “The Quiet Machine”
Love this poem by poet Ada Limon - perfect on a day hopefully spent in a bit enjoying a bit of quiet, and rediscovering what lives there.
Worth Quoting: Grace Farris, author and illustrator
Worth Noting: This Week’s 10 Honorable Mentions
Madeline Donahue’s motherhood-focused art is the coolest.
7 books about complicated mother-daughter relationships.
An inexpensive expensive-looking summer dress.
An absolute iconic gift to yourself this Mother’s Day would be the sleep crown. Moms deserve quality rest.
An appetizer party sounds like a potluck that’s been rebranded but I’m also kind of into it?
A reminder to get in the photo with your kids today (and every day)
Yum: rhubarb-strawberry buttermilk shortcake. Will not be sharing.
Simply can not get enough of Rachel Samples, Emma Pope and Aliki. Start with women leaving the house and spiral from there.
To the fairy godmothers.