happy mother's day!

being a mother is unlike any other experience i have ever encountered. it is completely all encompassing. it is relentless and real and definitely more about guts than glory. (though the glory moments, when they come, knock me off my feet and send me into the ether in a way that nothing else ever has.) the love, the sacrifice, the tunnel vision, the expectations, the hopes, and the growth i've experienced since becoming a mother define me. i've never been something-played a role so completely- that it becomes my identity. and now i realize on this my 6th mother's day, that this is the thing that i struggle and love the most about motherhood. i hate to feel like i've lost myself to my kids, and yet i've never felt more myself than to be their mom. does that make sense? it's a beautiful conundrum and a high wire balancing act, and i'm guessing that will never go away, even when i'm 70 and my children are full fledged adults.

ages ago my sister-in-law sent me a gorgeous little piece by the equally gorgeous writer anna quindlen that i have saved in my "inspirato" email folder and regularly read when i feel i've lost my way in motherhood. it is one of those great pieces of recorded perspective-a reminder to live in the moment more and to trust your children above all to tell you what they need and when. and i love quindlen's point that children "excavate our essential humanity". i believe this so much that i have a hard time imagining how people who do not have children can ever experience the fullness of their hearts, minds, and souls. i feel my kids excavating me daily; sometimes uncovering the treasures and warmth buried beneath and sometimes tugging at a raw spot that would rather stay deeply hidden. i think my children reveal my most honest self to me and they certainly bring out in me a desire to be better, to do more, to educate, and to face fears. i am forever grateful to cleo and flynn for challenging me an making me more me than i was before. happy mother's day to all of you out there growing and nurturing human beings, whatever their age. may we all do good work!

and here is the piece by anna quindlen. enjoy!:

All my babies are gone now. I say this not in sorrow but in disbelief. I take great satisfaction in what I have today: three almost-adults, two taller than I am, one closing in fast. Three people who read the same books I do and have learned not to be afraid of disagreeing with me in their opinion of them, who sometimes tell vulgar jokes that make me laugh until I choke and cry, who need razor blades and shower gel and privacy, who want to keep their doors closed more than I like. Who, miraculously, go to the bathroom, zip up their jackets and move food from plate to mouth all by themselves. Like the trick soap I bought for the bathroom with a rubber ducky at its center, the baby is buried deep within each, barely discernible except through the unreliable haze of the past.

Everything in all the books I once poured over is finished for me now. Penelope Leach., T. Berry Brazelton., Dr. Spock. The ones on sibling rivalry and sleeping through the night and early-childhood education, have all grown obsolete. Along with Goodnight Moon and Where the Wild Things Are, they are battered, spotted, well used. But I suspect that if you flipped the pages dust would rise like memories. What those books taught me, finally, and what the women on the playground taught me, and the well-meaning relations --what they taught me, was that they couldn't really teach me very much at all.

Raising children is presented at first as a true-false test, then becomes multiple choice, until finally, far along, you realize that it is an endless essay. No one knows anything. One child responds well to positive reinforcement, another can be managed only with a stern voice and a timeout. One child is toilet trained at 3, his sibling at 2.

When my first child was born, parents were told to put baby to bed on his belly so that he would not choke on his own spit-up. By the time my last arrived, babies were put down on their backs because of research on sudden infant death syndrome. To a new parent this ever-shifting certainty is terrifying, and then soothing. Eventually you must learn to trust yourself.

Eventually the research will follow. I remember 15 years ago poring over one of Dr. Brazelton's wonderful books on child development, in which he describes three different sorts of infants: average, quiet, and active. I was looking for a sub-quiet codicil for an 18-month old who did not walk. Was there something wrong with his fat little legs? Was there something wrong with his tiny little mind? Was he developmentally delayed, physically challenged? Was I insane? Last year he went to China . Next year he goes to college. He can talk just fine. He can walk, too.

Every part of raising children is humbling, too. Believe me, mistakes were made. T hey have all been enshrined in the, "Remember-When- Mom-Did Hall of Fame." The outbursts, the temper tantrums, the bad language, mine, not theirs. The times the baby fell off the bed. The times I arrived late for preschool pickup. The nightmare sleepover. The horrible summer camp. The day when the youngest came barreling out of the classroom with a 98 on her geography test, and I responded, "What did you get wrong?". (She insisted I include that.) The time I ordered food at the
McDonald's drive-through speaker and then drove away without picking it up from the window. (They all insisted I include that.) I did not allow them to watch the Simpsons for the first two seasons. What was I thinking?

But the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of them, sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night.

I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.

Even today I'm not sure what worked and what didn't, what was me and what was simply life. When they were very small, I suppose I thought someday they would become who they were because of what I'd done. Now I suspect they simply grew into their true selves because they demanded in a thousand ways that I back off and let them be.

The books said to be relaxed and I was often tense, matter-of-fact and I was sometimes over the top. And look how it all turned out. I wound up with the three people I like best in the world, who have done more than anyone to excavate my essential humanity. That's what the books never told me. I was bound and determined to learn from the experts. It just took me a while to figure out who the experts were.

**IMAGE ABOVE VIA POSTSECRET.COM, a site so worth checking out i can almost guarantee instant fascination and lots of time suckage.