I used to joke that Mother’s Day is a holiday made up by Hallmark, to sell millions (about 133 million to be precise) of cheesy, flowery, mushy cards to people. The influx of cash gets them through that slow time of year that is so far from Christmas. I have of course always bought into this holiday because I love my mom and it seems like a nice thing to do for the woman that gave birth to you.
I found an interesting article at National Geographic’s website about the origin of Mother’s Day. It wasn’t created by Hallmark, but by Ann Reeves Jarvis for mourning women to remember fallen soldiers and work for peace in the 1850’s. In 1914 President Woodrow Wilson made it an official holiday making this the 100th anniversary of Mother’s Day. From there it became the more commercial holiday we know today. However, Ann’s daughter, Anna Jarvis fought the growing commercialization of Mother’s Day with everything she had. Literally. She spent the remainder of her life, her entire inheritance, and her sanity trying to keep Mother’s Day private, simple, and focused on the “best mother you’ve ever known – your mother.” She failed. She died alone and penniless in a sanitorium, and Mother’s Day is now celebrated world wide with flowers, brunches, cards and gifts. And you know what? I think that’s a good thing.
Most of us take the time to celebrate the people we love in some way or another. We call, write, visit. We say “I love you”, “Thank you”, “You’re Awesome”. Having a day set aside specifically for that, especially in this day and age of “busy, busy, busy” is a nice reminder though. To stop. To reflect. To feel and share that gratitude and love.
In May of 1977, my mom became Mom. Her life changed forever and mine got started. Of course I remember nothing of those first few years, little of the next few and some highlights of the rest. That’s how memory is. However, I have pictures that help, and have heard stories over the years.
We lived on four acres outside of a small midwest town in a house built by my parents and where they still live to this day.
Here is mom and me on a nice day. How do I know it’s nice? You see that mom’s hair is not standing straight out to one side? No wind. That’s a pretty nice day in the midwest.
My mom sacrificed a lot for the three of us. We didn’t have much money. She didn’t buy new clothes. For her. My sister, brother, and I always had new duds, backpacks, and lunchboxes for each school year. The Christmas tree and stockings were always overflowing with gifts. We had homemade hot meals for every dinner, which we always ate together. She worked hard. My dad worked hard. But they made life easy and fun for us.
Life in the country. I’m sure there’s a reason for this picture – maybe it was a new tractor. Maybe we just wanted to take a picture. Regardless, another beautiful day.
We always had a dog growing up. When I was little, it was a Saint Bernard named Rocky. He would find a rabbit’s nest, chase out the mama, and get the babies. Some died but there was always one or two that survived. And of course as kids we HAD to save them. Meaning Mom had to feed them, care for them, keep them in a box, clean the box, chase them when they got out of the box, and put them back in. We had a few bunnies over the years and they all had names. Nosy, Flash, Roger, Binky-co-lala, and Pinky-co-lala. All except for Pinky were nursed back to health and released. And Binky was seen several times after his successful release, recognizable because of a notch the dog took out of his ear.
We spent a lot of time playing outside, but sometimes the weather would chase us inside. I have memories of playing in the kitchen, on the floor, with my Playmobile camping set. I’m sure I was in the way, but mom never complained. Well, not too much. When I was bored and wanted some attention, she had a game she played with me while she cooked. She’d make a bunch of random dots on a piece of paper and then I would connect the dots and see what it turned into.
During the summers we would camp every weekend. Mom would pre-make most of the food. I’m sure she started prepping on Wednesday or Thursday. She packed the clothes and towels. Got the camper ready for the weekend. Then dad would take it and the boat out Thursday night to save the good spot. We’d play and play and play all weekend. And then we would come back home Sunday evening, the three of us dirty and exhausted. Mom and dad would unpack, clean, and then by Wednesday they would start the process over again.
When I was a teenager, I would climb out of the depths of my dark basement bedroom on Sunday mornings to find Mom and Dad sitting at the table drinking coffee and chatting. I loved to sit with them for awhile and join in the conversation. Being a teenager though, at some point I tired of the conversation and it would turn into a bit of a one-sided lecture. And man could my mom lecture. The hands would start going. She’d get louder and more excitable. I always let her go for a little while and then get up and leave. She always laughed and said something about “Had enough of the lecturing for today?” We still laugh about it today. And she can still get a good lecture going.
After moving back to Kansas 10 or so years ago, Mom and I started going to Yoga classes. Then when I started teaching she was my first student. We started a book club together. We traveled to the Yoga Journal Conference and the Sedona Yoga Festival. We would go for walks. We worked together at their business and at the Antique Mall. We became friends over the years. Friends that could hang out, go do fun things together, laugh, talk, or just do nothing together.
Then in 2006 I became a mom. I joined the club, and started to understand my mom a little more. I understood what it means to sacrifice. What you would actually be willing to give up to make their lives better (everything). And what she had done for me, my sister and brother. And now she gets to be a grandma. She gets to have the fun without all of the work. She gets to avoid the discipline and just laugh and cuddle, hug and kiss. My girls look at their grandma as one of their best friends. They enjoy every moment they spend together and they know they are the center of her Universe.
Mother’s Day is a special day for me. A day to celebrate my mom and all she’s done for me. A day to reflect on being a mom – on how amazing my children are, how much I love them, how much I love this “job” of being mom. And yes, a time for cards, gifts, and flowers. 🙂
There’s no way to be a perfect mother and a million ways to be a good one. ~ Jill Churchill
Happy Mother’s Day mom. Thank you for all you’ve done. For all that you do. I love you!
Dena
Dena Stoltz 