Reflections on a Mother's Worth

I remember asking my mother a question when I was still in awe of my new baby daughter, "Mom, did you love me as much as I love my baby?"

I have replayed her answer often these past years. "Of course I did." Simple as that. But I am still comprehending the magnitude of that answer. It tempts me to truly feel worthy.

How pleasant it must be to be in the position of a grandmother. The mother labors to dig a path for her children, struggling to keep pace in front of them, every once in awhile turning around to corral them back on the path. Meanwhile, the grandmother is strolling alongside ...

I remember asking my mother a question when I was still in awe of my new baby daughter, "Mom, did you love me as much as I love my baby?"

I have replayed her answer often these past years. "Of course I did." Simple as that. But I am still comprehending the magnitude of that answer. It tempts me to truly feel worthy.

How pleasant it must be to be in the position of a grandmother. The mother labors to dig a path for her children, struggling to keep pace in front of them, every once in awhile turning around to corral them back on the path. Meanwhile, the grandmother is strolling alongside the children, holding hands and picking flowers. Every once in awhile, the grandmother provides advice on the shoveling technique, but no gloves are offered. When the mother complains about the toil and hardship, the grandmother holds up her palm to show her own hardened calluses in sympathy.

So why is it so difficult to understand that my mother loved me as much as I love my children, and as much as I see that she loves her grandchildren? Perhaps it is because I have come so far in life without truly appreciating what my mother has done for me. Maybe it is easier to question that love than to feel the guilt. But there comes a time when every mother must face the truth: that indeed, her own mother felt that love, lived that love, and suffered that love.

It is necessary for young children to be ignorant of their mother's sacrifice. If our children comprehended how much they put us out, they would probably implode with guilt. That is why motherhood has acquired the reputation for being a thankless job. But as adults, we can and need to understand. It is part of the maturing process that every woman must go through, whether she has children of her own or not. It is just that having children forces the issue.

No wonder a grandmother loves her grandchildren so much. She knows that those children are responsible for the newly-formed painful calluses that cause her daughter to finally look back at her mother with understanding, forgiveness and true appreciation.

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First Class Boy

There was a time when my children provided me with all sorts of humorous fodder to fold into a story that grandparents would find amusing. Now that my children are older, these opportunities are fewer. My nine-year-old son, however, being the innocent constitution that he is, will probably give me a few more years of laughter.

Oh how excited he was to receive a package from a stranger. He opened it to reveal the contents, showing me a small bag of about a dozen flat yellow Legos.

"Daddy got me the Legos I needed!"

Not sure why he would be so excited about these generic Legos, I asked him what he was going to do with them. He proceeded to explain all about something concerning something. My husband and son have a super secret Lego thing going. I rarely ask.

He was still talking about his package as we pulled the garbage bins in from the curb. He told me how Daddy had the man who sent them write his name on the package.

"And Daddy even had him send it FIRST CLASS!"
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