Mother's Day is coming up.
This day always brings me mixed feelings. On the one hand, I picture beautiful spring days, lovely flowers, occasional jewelry, and mothers sharing smiles and cookies and swings with their beautiful, clean children.
On the other hand, I see my actual perception of mothers everywhere: Guilt-ridden, overwhelmed, frazzled, short-fused, ticking time bombs.
In my head, bouquets and hallmark cards and beautiful necklaces are delivered with breakfast in bed on tiptoe and with trembling fingers because of tradition and long-suffering husbands and because, "If mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy." So, darn it, we better show that we appreciate Mother because if we don't, all hell will break loose.
Every year, I hear how sacred a calling Motherhood is. I hear about the sacrifices mothers make. I hear about beautiful traditions and sweet moments. Every year, I hear about all the honor and love that is due to mothers, simply because they are who they are.
And then, I think about how I have to be a tyrant to my little boy, because at 5 years old, he can't remember the simple instruction to keep his hand off his crotch, despite repeated reminders for over a year. I think about the last time I yelled at my children for something I think they should already understand. I think about how pretty much all mothers go through this same thing, and it's ugly and messy and leaves you feeling like a mangy dog that just lost a fight.
I blame us. I blame the mothers. Of course bringing life into the world is important. Of course doing your best to raise your children well is important. At the very least, I tell myself, I try to make sure my children get enough food, and I don't beat them, and they're learning some good principles. I hope. Somewhere, stuck in between the cracks of my tantrums.
But it's our fault that we let ourselves get caught in the frustration. It's our fault when we don't always control our emotions and actions. It's our fault, because children are innocent and sweet and should never be hurt in any way, right? Shouldn't we have more of those commercial-worthy moments, with the bubbles and the walks through the park?
I saw a graph the other day that showed that what mothers primarily want for Mother's Day is chocolate. Flowers and silence also made the list.
Silence sounds good. Climbing into a hole with blankets and a book also sounds good. An assurance that my kids will someday grow up and not scream at me when they're unhappy sounds nice, too. A team of people who could come in and clean my house top-to-bottom would be truly lovely. I literally don't remember the last time I cleaned either of our bathrooms.
Being able to be nice to the people I love because I'm not constantly worried about what they're doing would be lovely.
Having the ability to share my hobbies with my kids without having to stop every 5 minutes to wipe away tears, get yet another stupid drink of water or change another diaper would be awesome.
Remembering that I'm a person. Am I still? I'm pretty sure I'm just a momster. We all are. Every mother out there succumbs at some point, and then it's just a downward spiral.
Do I like being a mother? Very rarely. Do I regret becoming a mother? Also very rarely.
Stupid, stupid time of life.
I don't not regret becoming a mother because of the beauty of it. Or those cute little snuggles. Or those sweet little moments when things do go right. I guess... I feel the importance of it in an eternal sense. I feel the worth of these little souls in my charge.
And, I don't know a lot, but I do have a few of the important things figured out. So, while I truly am a momster, at least I can sigh and do my best to pass on those bits of knowledge that I do have and, hopefully, get them pointed in some semblance of the right direction without confusing them too much.
But can I skip Mother's Day this year? Blech.