Tuxtla Gutierrez, Mexico
The first Mother’s Day I didn’t hug my mom was May 1998, when I lived abroad in Mexico and went for almost an entire year without seeing my parents. I was seventeen. Mexican women, other mothers, raised me that year. My mom might have disapproved of my choice of strappy heels (she totally did), but she was 3,000 miles away. Over the years I’m guessing we’ve been apart more than we’ve been together on the second Sunday in May. There are plenty of reasons we’re not often with her to celebrate Mother’s Day (distance, work, in-laws), but the truth is that she’s just not the kind of mom that expects me to show up because Hallmark deems it so. Not only did I draw “unfussy mom” in the life lottery, but I also got a mom who has encouraged me to seek wisdom from other women and cultivate relationships far and wide. I’m sorry she was on her own today, but she’s a gardener; she knows that when you throw seeds in the air, sometimes you have to watch flowers grow from a distance.
As a kid, I spent a lot of time with my mom’s close girlfriends and my dad’s sisters. I thought everyone grew up sharing a bed with their aunties, spending special weekends in the city or travelling across the country in creaky hatchbacks without a plan.
My mom’s stereo blared Colin James, Rod Stewart and Leonard Cohen while my aunts loved the Indigo Girls, Bruce Cockburn and Connie Kaldor. My mom’s close friend preferred Madonna, The Supremes and later Diana Krall. (My dad’s contributions to the soundtrack of my childhood are another post altogether because I still don’t know how to explain his love for Tom Waits and Michael Bolton.)
As one of Mom’s close friends once said: “Your mom was never stingy. She knew how to share her kids.” I’m grateful she did because every time my mom waved goodbye as I went down the laneway with someone new, those road trip conversations shaped me and my ideas about how to be a person in the world. For every parent who fears their child may lack “experiences” and who wants to give them something special, take a breath. It truly does not matter that Disney World is closed. It just doesn’t. Trust me on this one. I’m willing to bet all your child needs is a few hours in a car with an adult who is not you.
Sometimes I hear people talk about “exposing” their children to “new ways of thinking” – like you pull back the curtain for an instant to view something secret and then resume play on your normal life. It’s kind of a weird word when you think about it, and maybe a better verb would be “engage”. My mother’s opinions were never a mystery to me (she doesn’t suffer fools or people who don’t play cards), but she encouraged relationships that let me not just pull back the curtain on other ways of being, but get right onstage and participate in the drama and comedy of other people’s lives. As a teenager my mom taught me to drive, but my “other mothers” taught me how to take the bus or hitch a ride. In my twenties my mom gave me the confidence to trust myself in making huge decisions and my “other mothers” gave me safe landing when I took those giant leaps. In my thirties, my mom was the first to make my (then serious) son giggle and now his “other mothers” can enjoy his silliness.
My hilarious son and his “love notes”. Nice try, sonny boy. (He said today I could read two, and suggested reading the yellow one along with the “regular” love notes.)
Who knows what the next decade will bring? I know my mom will love (cringe?) watching us raise teenagers. I know I’ll need other mothers for the age of exploration that’s ahead.
This is the moment I’m realizing that even IF I had all the answers or even some good tools to find the answers, it isn’t enough. My kids won’t accept wisdom solely from me, because I’m their mom. Thank goodness I’m surrounded by so many wise, curious and compassionate humans who play a role in my kids’ lives. My heart swells with gratitude when one of my children expresses love for another adult in our circle. My parents taught me how to be a good partner, but they also had many single friends, and those friends showed me the richness of a life built around friendship and chosen families. It reassures me to know my kids have spiritual parents who might offer answers (or at least stories!) other than my own. On this Mother’s Day when so many are separated from their mothers, I want to say thanks to my mom for sharing the four of us and teaching us to elbow our way into the worlds of other mothers. Thanks to everyone who is co-parenting with me. Yes, it takes a village to raise a child, but it also takes courage to be the mom who lets go. It takes courage to give up the need to be the ultimate influencer. It takes courage to give up the need to be right (“because I said so!”) and to risk being challenged.
To my No 1 Mom – thanks for being courageous, generous and for giving me the gift of other moms. And thanks for telling me those shoes were awful. In hindsight, they really were.
Mom 1970’s, 1980’s, 1990’s