Happy Mothers Day All,
Instead of a new post this weekend I decided to re share a post I wrote probably four years ago. It still explains how life happens being a mom. My kids are older and less dependent on me but the context of motherhood is much the same... In celebration of mothers everywhere...please enjoy your weekend...
I wonder who came up with Mothers Day? A thoughtful husband or thankful son. Maybe it was a worn out mom with a bunch of snot nosed kids to feed, diaper, and clothe. The last choice seems the most accurate but I don’t know of course.
I know from experience when I’m in my most mommiest mode; I don’t feel worthy of a day dedicated to the cause. I feel worn out and ugly those days. They are the kind of days I pray that miraculously my children will one day have fond memories of their mom.
So, what makes a mom? It’s much more than nine months of expectations while life is being formed inside your body. It’s not even the event of birth itself.
It takes time to become a mom. It’s a lot of events and experiences combined; not one specific time or date.
What has made me be a mom was the nights awake soothing a child’s fever or stomach. It was the bad attitudes and naughtiness showing themselves that made me take that first step toward corrections and directions.
Showing them how to be thoughtful and kind to others instead of naturally grabbing, biting, and shoving their way through life, while helping them learn how to do everyday work has been a better teacher about life than I could’ve done by doing everything for them.
I become a real mom to my children when I train them as God is training me. Instead of looking at the way other moms do; looking at what God has given me to do.
A mom doesn’t worry whether her children love her. They need her whether they feel love toward her or not so the need for them to feel approval or affection is more important than their saying, “I love you” or “you’re a great mom!”
I never really thought about how my mom felt or what she wanted or needed when I was growing up. It didn’t cross my mind till I had children of my own.
That’s the ironic thing about being a mom. You don’t care about your own mom like you should till you have children of your own and then it’s too late to go back and be a better child.
My mom used to tell us that we don’t love her near as much as she loved us. It used to frustrate me but now I know what she was saying.
It’s exactly as it should be. This is what makes me mom: having love for my child that they themselves do not understand nor that they even want to understand. They are my children therefore I’m mom.