I’m not gonna do it. I’m not gonna fall for the Mother’s Day Trap.
It’s so gosh darn tempting to expect what the Hallmark commercials are selling. We see all of these picture perfect scenes of cherub children and adoring husbands gently, lovingly waking Mom with beautifully handmade keepsakes, poetic cards, and expensive jewelry. They shower her with affection. The children, perfectly dressed and coiffed, use indoor voices, remember their manners, and play sweetly with each other.
How many loaves of bread does this woman need?
No wonder it’s so easy to get in a rotten mood on Mother’s Day when the day is, well, ordinary.
This year, I’m not falling for the Mother’s Day Trap. Instead, I’m gonna anticipate ordinary.
I’m gonna anticipate that even on Mother’s Day there will still be diaper blowouts, epic temper tantrums, spilled milk, or fighting children. Full disclosure: I’m anticipating ordinary so much that I asked Philip if we could go to Mass just the two of us on Saturday before our dinner date. That way, we can enjoy a peaceful-ish (with a big “ish”) Mother’s Day morning at home with the kids. (Mass has been anything but peaceful or prayerful the last few weeks. Just ask the other St. Joseph’s parishioners! They can tell you about the Divine Mercy Sunday extravaganza. A smuggled minion, open flames, and a St. Joseph statue were involved.) Any you know what? Praise God! Really. All of the crazy day-to-day stressors and power struggles that I’ve grown to accept as normal are signs of life around here.
I don’t need to cherish every diaper change or temper tantrum to be a good mother. I do need to celebrate the gift of what has become my ordinary, though. When I take the time to stop and think about it, motherhood blows my mind. It is an extraordinary grace to be entrusted with eternal souls. The longer God gives me to hone my skills as a mama, the more I see that He has sent me exactly the souls I need to be the person He is asking me to be. It’s exactly the life I need. There’s so much grace to be found in the imperfect.
So, when it’s Mother’s Day morning and someone has a fever and someone else lost their left shoe, I’ll remember that the imperfect won’t make it a bad Mother’s Day; it’ll make it a real Mother’s Day. Last year, our family spent Mother’s Day in my brother’s basement during a tornado warning, so stay tuned for what’s in store this year. Whatever happens, it’ll be a tailor-made Mother’s Day with opportunities just for me to find the graces.
