Mother's Day: Words to Live By...

Last night my hubby kicked me out of the house to Starbucks so that I could "take a break" -- read: so that he could work on my Mother's Day gift. Hmm….

I don't think I've gone to Starbucks by myself since well before Gemma was born. Funny how parenthood changes you. Years ago I would've felt pathetic sipping a chai tea latte alone on a Friday night, but now that I'm well into motherhood, I can't think of a more relaxing way to start my weekend.  Well, except sleeping.

I thought I'd take advantage of the time to myself to post something new on the blog. And since Sunday is Mother's Day, you'll find this timely.

A few months ago I was searching through the racks of wall art at Homesense for something new for my classroom when I stumbled on this:

I snatched it up right away. I knew I needed it for my home, and I knew I needed it in my kitchen where I'd see it and be reminded of this message ALL THE TIME.

You see, ever since I've had Gemma, my home and I have been fighting an epic battle. My type-A desire to keep a clean and tidy house is always in conflict with the realities of motherhood.

When Matt and I were first married, Saturday was cleaning day. I was able to maintain a decent house by cleaning a couple hours on the weekend, and by periodically bringing in a house cleaner, especially when my marking load got really heavy (all English teachers collectively sigh in empathy).

It took all of five minutes into Gemma's existence outside the womb for me to realize that those clean and tidy days were done. Strewn across my hospital room were the eighty parts to my breast pump, and my half-packed diaper bag had seemingly exploded, spilling its contents in every corner of the room. Ringing any reminiscent bells, moms??? To state the obvious, there is just no going back to those pre-baby days once baby comes.

16 months later and I still have a hard time facing this truth--I just can't keep on top of my house. My house can feel so oppressive, because it's always there, it's always messy, and there's really nothing I can do about it. I tidy a corner of a room and seconds later our little 'hurricane Gemma’-- as we've come to affectionately call her-- rolls through. I clean a mirror and a minute later Gemma decides to play kissy-face with her reflection in the glass. I scrape the goop off the floor and the next meal Gemma discovers the humour in watching mommy react as she flings her yogurt across the kitchen. And if I were to be completely transparent, I'd tell you how many times I've teared up looking at the impossibly large messes my 30 some-odd inches of toddler creates.

When I saw this wall art I knew I needed it for my sanity--a mantra, if you will. I needed to remember that my worth as a mom is not tied up in how I care for my home, but rather how I care for those living in my home. My best childhood memories of my mom are not how hard she worked as a homemaker, but of the quality time she spent with me. The times she read the whole Anne of Green Gables series to me, the times we painted Easter eggs and made gingerbread houses (from scratch, no less), the times she stayed up for hours helping me with science projects and editing my essays. When I reflect on it I see that these were the moments my mom demonstrated her love for me in a way that made me feel happy and secure.

When Gemma grows up she won't remember the greasy fingerprints on the coffee table and the dust bunnies setting up camp in the corner of the family room. But she will remember that I read her books and played with her at the park. That I let her colour outside the lines and make mud pies in the sandbox. That I stopped what I was doing in the kitchen to listen to her little stories and take delight in what joyed her.

And so, I'm learning to embrace my sticky floor, dirty oven, unwashed laundry, disorganized closet--and the list could go on, and on, and on-- and go about the business of being busy enjoying the fleeting moments of my daughter's childhood. Happy Mother’s day!

♥ Dion