Some Mothers Do ‘ave ‘em…

Unlike here in the US, it was Mothers’ Day in Ireland, and other parts of the world, yesterday.

The dictionary definition of a mother:
Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1) — Cite This Source — Share This
moth·er1 /ˈmʌðər/ Pronunciation Key — Show Spelled Pronunciation[muhth-er] Pronunciation Key — Show IPA Pronunciation
–noun
1. a female parent.
2. (often initial capital letter) one’s female parent.
3. a mother-in-law, stepmother, or adoptive mother.
4. a term of address for a female parent or a woman having or regarded as having the status, function, or authority of a female parent.
5. a term of familiar address for an old or elderly woman.
6. mother superior.
7. a woman exercising control, influence, or authority like that of a mother: to be a mother to someone.
8. the qualities characteristic of a mother, as maternal affection: It is the mother in her showing itself.
9. something or someone that gives rise to or exercises protecting care over something else; origin or source.
10. (in disc recording) a mold from which stampers are made.
–adjective
11. being a mother: a mother bird.
12. of, pertaining to, or characteristic of a mother: mother love.
13. derived from or as if from one’s mother; native: his mother culture.
14. bearing a relation like that of a mother, as in being the origin, source, or protector: the mother company and its affiliates; the mother computer and its network of terminals.
–verb (used with object)
15. to be the mother of; give origin or rise to.
16. to acknowledge oneself the author of; assume as one’s own.
17. to care for or protect like a mother; act maternally toward.
–verb (used without object)
18. to perform the tasks or duties of a female parent; act maternally: a woman with a need to mother.
 — Idiom
19. mother of all, the greatest or most notable example of: the mother of all mystery novels.

I’d had great intentions of writing this and posting it yesterday, but it happened to be the one weekend when I had friends in town and we were constantly on the move; the one day when the mother (or Mudder!) who deserves it most in the world, who deserves to have accolades and devotions up the wazoo, privately and publicly laid at her feet, didn’t, from me. And that just shows you. Kids!

Most mothers love their children. Most mothers will make sacrifice after sacrifice for their young, doing everything they can to ensure their happiness and ensure their stealthy journey towards that time when kids think they know better. Some mothers, unfortunately for their little children, and to the detriment of the adults those children become, don’t sacrifice at all, but today is a day to celebrate the good ones. They do it all.

Most mothers wouldn’t consider what they do for us, through love, as a sacrifice and most of us children don’t realize what their love means and just what it takes. When we’re children, it’s a bit like the wizard behind the curtain — we don’t see the magic and miracles, the sheer force of will, the cranking and creaking of the pulleys and chains behind the drapes. We don’t see how what we have was come by. At the time, all we see is what we’ve got.

I think it was George Bernard Shaw who said “Youth is wasted on the young,” and how right he was. The older we get the more we realize just what our mothers have done for us and just how much personal sacrifice and loving is involved, if a mother is worth her salt — our scratched knees, boinked noggins and twisted ankles hurt them more than us; what panic and terror it conjures up in their minds, us wandering off the road (or going to “the forest”) without telling them, for ‘it was only ten minutes’; how our slights and hurts we feel from teachers or other kids at school, make them, normally peace loving people, want to pounce and scratch at the offenders like a lioness protecting her cubs — and what we, as we blindly trample our way into our teen years, with nary a look back (but usually with a cheeky reply), can do to their hearts. And that sting they feel, when we seem to want to spend time with anyone else but them.

Some mothers (along with the superstar dads, of which I have one) will never have new clothes or get their hair done, so that we can have our red typewriters, books or skates, video games and bikes. And as we become teens, they will continue to do the same, just so we can, frivolously, attend the school disco wearing something that’s in fashion. And they’re just happy that we’re happy. It goes on and on, repeatedly, as we hungrily eyeball our adulthood.

And as we reach that milestone, you would think it would stop there; for some mothers, it does. Some mothers feel that when their kids reach the age of eighteen (if not earlier), their job as a parent is done. Some mothers.

Then there are those few mothers who will continue to show their love as if time has stood still, as if not a moment has passed since the day they brought you into the world. A few mothers will hug you and try to comfort you, even when you elbow them away, thinking you’re too old for that. A few mothers will scan your brain and know what you’re thinking, even when you yourself, don’t. They will find great joy in the smallest of your successes and pain in your smallest of woes. A few mothers will know when you hurt or when you don’t want to be alone or say that there’s nothing wrong, even when you try to pretend — that type of mother will love you even when you don’t deserve it.

Mothers, few and far between, will, at the time of the worst loss and sadness of their lives, place your heartbreak above their own to comfort you; will fold away their own grief to ensure that you don’t turn to ashes and disappear from view, along with that terrible loss. They will bail you out of yourself and those situations when life chooses not to love you and they will help you to walk for a second time. That same type of mother will be there for you when the world decides not to give you everything you want and need; when the universe gives you the finger or a swift kick in the jubblies, when life doesn’t wish to be kind to you — when it shows you it’s nowhere close to being a mother. And just when you reach a time in your life when you feel you’re as adult and “old” as it gets, your mother loves you like the little child with plaits and freckles you long left behind — and she does it just exactly when you need it the most. Some mothers are a credit to their own beloved mothers and made them very, very proud.

My mother is the best of all of these mothers and more. My mother is a champion. The word ‘love’ doesn’t cover it. The world hasn’t got another of this mother. If I were forced to choose, she would be #19 above. There has, however, been no dictionary definition created to encompass the depth and meaning of my mother (~and my Fadder ain’t in any way shabby either~). But it is Mothers’ Day.

So, thank you, Mam. Thank you for the typewriters, books, clothes, dinners, protection, loyalty, friendship, pride in me, support of me, fun, love and caring I didn’t, and couldn’t, truly appreciate at the time.

And thank you, Mam, for continuing to laugh at my clowning around :)

Few may read this, but one person I know will. My mother. Because she’s my mother.

It’s a day late, but Happy Mothers’ Day, and every day. I love you.

XXX

P.S. My toothbrush fell down the toilet this morning — that’ll teach me!