I saw a mother at church on Sunday wearing her Mother's Day gift. It was a bracelet. It was made of blue construction paper. It had red squiggles drawn on it, and a big fat crookedy piece of tape to hold it together. It was just about sixteen sizes too big for her wrist. In fact, she had to work pretty hard to keep it from sliding off over her hand every time she needed to use that arm to keep her two rambunctious boys under control on the pew. I was sitting behind her, and couldn't help but smile as I watched one of the boys reach over and stroke the bracelet. I am guessing he had something to do with its creation. And he seemed pretty happy to see it on display so proudly there. I didn't know that mother, but I wanted to lean forward and tell her that she was obviously a really good one. Sure, her boys were relatively out of control, noisy and distracting and longing to be anywhere but sitting on that bench, but it was easy to see she had the important things down cold. And they were reading her message loud and clear. Someday it will pay big dividends.
I did not receive a construction paper bracelet for Mother's Day. I did receive a new iPod to replace the one I smashed when it slipped out of my sweaty hand and landed face down on the road recently. Even though they don't make that iPod anymore, my daughter tracked one down, in the shade of green I like, and then loaded 500 of her favorite songs on there, which were hand picked to broaden my aging horizons, along with a nice selection of my own favorites - even the ones that she particularly hates. She completed the gift with a selection of non-breakable accessories to keep my new treasure safe no matter how sweaty or clumsy I get. It was an amazing bit of thoughtfulness -- a non-judgmental nod to my aversion to change, as well as a nudge into the future. The kind of thing a loving mother might do, come to think of it.
Another daughter spent the week prior to Mother's Day accompanying me to boring medical appointments. And discussing books with me. And sitting on the couch watching Sherlock and eating cake and ice cream. She finished off her gift with a hand-drawn card. In case you ever wondered, a hand-drawn card from a 26 year old may be even more charming than one from a six year old. It pictured a particular cactus we had seen at the botanical gardens earlier in the week that we thought looked as if it were offering us flowers. It made me happier than she could ever imagine.
The remaining daughter spent a chunk of time on a lovely phone chat with me. The kind we don't take time for very often. She told me all her news, big and small. We laughed a lot. She also sent a truly awful and amazing old video of Mr. T performing a song of some sort titled "Treat Your Mother Right" and wearing camo hot pants. You can imagine how good that was! Best of all, it came to my phone so I could watch it right when it arrived during church, and just when I was feeling bored and fidgety as those little boys.
Thank you, girls! I don't know what I possibly did to deserve such personal and affectionate displays, but I guess I did something right. It's hard to keep your eyes on the prize sometimes as a mother of young children. It can feel like a very long tunnel that you know you will eventually emerge from -- blinking in the light and probably feeling it's too soon. But it seems to go on forever while you're blindly groping your way through it. You hope you're doing the right things. The important ones. Of course, there isn't a map or a manual, so you never quite know. They just hand you your ticket in the hospital and away you go.
I suppose the best you can do is just be sure to wear the bracelet. Always wear the bracelet. No matter how much too big, or how much too blue, or how covered in gloppy tape. If it really doesn't match your dress, so much the better. Because someday you'll remember that bracelet very fondly and just wish you could have another. But most importantly, every day of their lives they will remember that you did.