I have a deep and growing admiration for mothers and mothering. Now this may surprise you, coming from me, someone who was not raised by my mother but by a single parent father. And if you have read any of my blog posts, I am sure it is abundantly clear that I do have some emotional residuals from that intriguing saga. But I am not going to beat that drum today! Been there; done that! Instead, as I celebrate nine years of the highs and lows of parenting (My older daughter turns 9 today, October 18), I feel a tremendous sense of gratitude for the opportunity I have had to experience motherhood and mothering.
Now, it would be inaccurate to say that my foray into motherhood began with the birth of my own child. I can recognize that inclination from my earliest days of playing with dolls in the back room of my father’s garage and later at each stage of my professional journey. Without a doubt, my finest moments in the profession have been those times when I shook of my professorial garb and connected with students from a deeply rooted spirit of caring–of nurturing. Similarly, I have been blessed with several mothers along my own life journey –strong and compassionate women who stood in the motherhood gap for me.
This weekend, I spent precious time with one such mother. Oh, how I wished I had met her years ago when I could barely boil an egg, when my rice and peas usually came out sappy and my biscuits… Well, who am I kidding? What biscuits?. My apologies to all past boyfriends and friends who suffered through my valiant early attempt at cooking–who ate undercooked potatoes and season less concoctions. Know that your sacrifices were not in vain. I did persevere, and not to boast or any thing, but Mama Dee, Mom (my mother-in-law), and “Ma” have taught me a thing or two about cooking! If you could only eat at my table now!! Ha!
Making Mama Dee’s Biscuits
Then there are women who stepped in to instruct me about womanhood. There is the next door neighbor who had “the talk” with my dad about what a growing young girl would need and introduced him to the concept of a “Bra”! Like, “Hello!”. The family friend who made sure Dad understood that I needed to be “on fleek” for my graduation party. Can I just say that I did represent!! There was the dean of women of Linda Austin Hall at the boarding school I attended during my teenage years. She would stand at the front door of our dormitory before we left for church and inspect us from head to toe sending us back to our rooms to get a half slip to put under THAT dress, pulling a safety pin out of her pocket to fix too low necklines, or tucking and pinning a stray curl with a hair pin from her other coat pocket. How we despised these inspections. And yet, (sigh), this morning as I waited in the foyer to inspect my daughters on the way out the door, I felt a great indebtedness to this woman. Thank you, Dean Beresford!
And there again, is Mom. Mom who was there for me in those big life moments. It was mom who took me to bridal store after bridal store, in search of that just right dress. How I remember well the moment, when we found THE dress. As I came out of the dressing room, our eyes locked in a watery embrace compelling our arms to soon follow; we hugged each other tightly and cried openly.
But wait, there is more! When my first daughter was born, I remember well the anxieties and uncertainties that welled up within me. Could I do this? What was this that I had to do? How could I be a good mother when I had not been mothered? So many fears! But “Mom” had it covered. As Mark and I drove home from the hospital on that afternoon in late October, I could see her bent frame through the kitchen window; she was busy at work. When we walked into the house, the aroma of warm food enveloped us, and her arms encircled me –she fussed over me, fussed over the baby, fussed over her homemade chocolate cake –fuss, fuss fuss, and I…, shucks, I thoroughly enjoyed it. Heck, I needed it! Mom stayed with us for several days helping me adjust to my new role. Ah, what a blessing!
I could go on and on reflecting on how each of these women and many, many more nurtured me, loved me, taught me, and shaped me into the woman I am always becoming. They filled an empty mothering hole till it was overflowing. I am because they are! And it occurs to me now, as I reflect on this that we all are who we are because of community– because of such connections. Each life is a patchwork quilt sewn together by a changing circle of hands, patch after patch, stitch after stitch, each hand building on the efforts of others until the work is perfected.
There is no lack of mothers where there is this kind of community! Hooray for mothers and motherhood ! Hooray for women with bottomless hearts and tireless hands who do not need the pretext of a navel string to bind themselves to others in need. And if you were privileged to be born female, well, then the mantle now falls on you and on me to continue this great work.
Please celebrate with me and share a reflection of the “mothers” who have blessed your life in the comment section below.