When I was a little girl, I was like most little girls at the time. I played with dolls — baby dolls needing burped, diapered, dressed, wrapped snugly, and loved; paper dolls sporting fancy clothes; and storybook dolls standing on the shelf in my room as a reminder of the stories told and yet to be told.
There was no doubt in my mind that I would someday have my own babies to love and care for. I progressed from playing with dolls to babysitting.
Then it came time for me to decide what I wanted to do with my life after high school. There weren’t a lot of choices for girls back then. Vocational choices were teaching or being a secretary. For many girls the expectation was to jump from their parents’ home to one of their own. Getting married and raising children was the most obvious path. The choice for me was easy as it involved my love of kids. I decided to become a teacher. That would be like babysitting. Right?
After marrying and teaching a few years, it was time to plan for a family. I never thought about not being a mother, but finding myself faced with that possibility, I realized how much I wanted children to clothe and feed and bathe and cuddle and love. Children of my own. I had lots of children at school to care about, but at the end of the day, they went home for someone else to do the motherly things.
I’m not sure that a man truly understands the draw of mothering, although it was Robert Browning who said “Motherhood: All love begins and ends there.” My husband said he saw no need to adopt; he had plenty of kids to care about: he was a teacher, too. I prevailed.
When it came to adoption, finding our way through the demanding protocols was taxing. At that time, we found no one to guide us. Eventually, a colleague suggested that the Salem Church of Christ had established a home for unwed mothers. They handled the inquiries, the acceptance or rejection of prospective adoptive parents, and the placement. It was daunting when I thought about a committee making a decision about my worthiness to be a mother.
I am eternally grateful for two biological mothers, Debbie and Wanda, who turned their “oops” into my greatest joys. I was destined to be a mother. Remember those baby dolls who needed cared for? I was practiced and ready. I had always been ready.
This Sunday is Mother’s Day. Contrary to popular belief, Mother’s Day as a celebration was not created by Hallmark, American Greetings, or the flower industry in order to make money. And mothers did not come up with the day in order to be pampered with breakfast in bed.
A woman named Anna Jarvis started a campaign for an official holiday honoring mothers in 1905, the year her mother died. In 1914, President Woodrow Wilson signed a proclamation making Mother’s Day an official holiday to be celebrated the second Sunday of May. (Thank you, Anna Jarvis and President Wilson!)
I love it when I find a quote on the World Wide Web that says what I am thinking. Unfortunately, this one has no author: “Mothers believe in us more than we believe in ourselves; do more for us than they do for themselves; worry about us more than we realize; pray for us more than we’ll ever know; value us more than anything else in the world; give us more than they can afford; love us more than anyone else can; matter more than words can express.”
As I close, my heart and mind pause to think of the Ukrainian mothers. I don’t know if they celebrate Mother’s Day when we do or at all, but they certainly deserve to be celebrated for their strength and tenacity as are the mothers in Poland who are making a difference by opening their hearts and homes to help their Ukrainian neighbors.
Here’s the Thing: Each family should celebrate its own mother this Sunday, May 8, in the way that works for them. If you are fortunate enough to have your mother still living, make every effort to spend time with her to celebrate her love for you. I only hope I conveyed to my mother how much I appreciated and loved her while she was living. I think of her every day! I can celebrate that love by recognizing what she gave me. This Sunday, I will celebrate with my daughter and son and grandson the love I have for them and the joy of being their mother and grandmother.
(I will leave it to Ken Ballinger to give fathers equal billing.)
