Mother’s Day Gratitude

As Mother’s Day approaches, I pause to think about the fact that
being my son’s mother remains the most treasured experience of my life. I don’t
care about being honored. I feel honored and blessed to see his smile, to laugh
at his jokes and to straighten his bow tie for a special dance. The best days
as a Mom fill me with serenity and contentment much like an idyllic, beachy, breezy day spent
relaxing in a hammock, savoring the sweet smell of honeysuckle, while the music
of a nearby waterfall massages my worries away. In contrast, the worst days bring
to mind the memory of 6 angry wasps attacking my ankle, my attempt to escape
thwarted by 2 pulled hamstrings. YIKES!!

 Often times, my son
and I sit in a room together surrounded by technology, but prefer to discuss
the day’s events to the exclusion of all else, mute and off buttons become an
unspoken act of immediacy and priority.
Those moments rate as some of the most precious. Every day punctuated
with a hug and “I love you” as the sun rises and sets. In retrospect, the
mistakes made that led to the late night trips to the store for poster board or
the need to grab a mop and broom to clean-up after a nasty gastrointestinal
virus—all a chance to step up for him which I vow, like all good parents, will
be my honor and his birthright. So many people believe that a child adopted
from a third world country should feel lucky. Some do and some don’t, not
knowing anything more than the here and now. It doesn’t matter because
gratitude reigns in our home even on the most challenging of days, a collective
deep breath taken and the push ahead made together.

Motherhood reminds me of sports—triumphs celebrated, failures examined
As and rapid rebounding back into the game. When my son graduates college and
returns home to visit, my Iron Woman win will be complete as a happy, independent,
intelligent, fully-forged moral person takes his place in the world.

          Speaking of sports, on a final note, not
being a girly-girl but more of a tomboy, my prowess as a nurturing parent
became a source of controversy, but I silenced all doubters as easily as steel establishes
its connectivity to a magnet. I owe the transitional ease to advice. Torn yet
ready to martyr myself for the family good, I talked to friends about selling
my beloved horse. The best advice I received as new mother changed my course—“You
can’t fill anyone else’s cup until you fill your own.” And so I kept my horse
and continued to ride, an homage to my days as a high school student. My
husband, of 28 years, told me without a doubt that my “Kelly” time made me a
better Mom and a better wife.

          On this special day, I send all mothers
a message. Please find time to enrich your life with an activity—art, running
or writing—that harkens back to the days when your seventeen year old self
ruled her world with swagger and an unshakable grasp of fun.