My Mom, the Virgin Mary, and Me

In the nineteen years that I’ve been lucky enough to be someone’s mother, I can think of no other greater influences to my craft than my own mother and the Mother of all mothers--the Virgin Mary.  Before I go any further, I want to preface this post (and exclude myself of any legal or moral liability) by saying this is not a lesson in Mary or motherhood.  I’ve never pretended to be role model for any one.  In fact, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve admitted that people like me shouldn’t have children.  But, I do.  And somehow they are amazing and funny regardless. 

When I was 18, I didn’t know anything.  When I gave that final push and exclaimed to the doctor, “I’m glad that’s over!” he knew I didn’t know anything.  “Honey, it’s only just begun,” was his response.  Lucky for Mayle she was coming home to seasoned parents—my parents—who knew what I was in for, but loved me enough not to tell me.  We were co-pilots until John and I married four years later.

Motherhood is not what they show in commercials for Pampers.  Rather, motherhood is more like having hemorrhoids.  Children are really just benign, painful lumps that hurt most when you’re trying to relax. 

My mom’s mantra is, “When they’re little, they’re little problems.  When they’re big, they’re big problems.” Up until the past decade or so, I had no idea what she meant.  Dirty faces, dirty butts, and dirty hands—that’s all I knew.  In my mind, it HAD to get better—Hallmark better.  But I just kept on having little ones and the little ones just kept on getting bigger

And you know what?  My mom’s right.   Their problems are bigger.  They need better bikes, IPods, and phones.  They hide teenage boys behind the sofa when we’re not home.  They break curfew.  And sometimes, they just scare the hell out of you.

And that’s where Mary comes in. 

When things are particularly dark, I think about Simeon’s prediction to Mary when Jesus was presented in the temple.  “And a sword shall pierce your heart.”

If all mothers knew this, would we continue to have children?  I pray each day that I never see the worst.  Broken phones and broken promises—that I can deal with.  But the crazy neurotic in me wishes I could go back to being that 18-year-old mother.  I felt much saner then.   Today I imagine the worst and hope for the best.  Just ask Stancey, it’s the reason she’s grounded until summer vacation.

So this mother’s day, I am most thankful for these mothers.   For my mother, who knows me but loves me anyway and for Mary for keeping it all in perspective.  Yeah, my mom, the Virgin Mary, and me--a Mother's Day trinity.