They were the generation without self-help books about purposeful parenting or about getting kids to listen and obey. They were the mothers who never stepped foot in a pre-natal yoga class or even heard the word “Lamaze.” They were the moms who parented, back when the word “parent” was a noun and not a verb.

They just got on with the business of bath-time and bed-time, homework and haircuts, lunches and leftovers without the world affirming them for “navigating the trenches of motherhood.” They didn’t have memes about red wine and yoga pants because it had been “one of those weeks.” Blog posts didn’t describe them as fierce or strong or courageous, because, yes, blogs didn’t exist – and also because no one really noticed.

This Mother’s Day, let’s celebrate the moms of the previous generation, the mothers who unflinchingly went about their tasks of building their children up, without anyone mentioning that they were, in fact, doing the hardest job in the world.

They weren’t perfect. Not by a long shot. They said things they shouldn’t have. They didn’t say things they should have. But, they did what they knew. And they did what they thought best.

Let’s take a minute today to say thank you. Thank you to these moms who gave unconditionally, who listened undistractedly, who laughed unreservedly, who disciplined wisely, and who worked tirelessly to make us who we are today.

I wanted to also take off my writer hat for a bit and put on my daughter hat to say a big thank you to my mom. I know I should say this more often, but thank you, dearest amma, for your selfless love. Every day of my life – and it’s been 40 times 365 days – you have put me before yourself.

I see it in the countless phone calls that I didn’t always want to answer.

I see it in blessings that I didn’t pray for myself, but that I know you asked God for.

I see it in the fact that you didn’t care about winning the “popular” vote, because you knew that discipling me was more important than being my friend.

I see it in the dozens of Betty Crocker chocolate cakes you baked for us.

I see it in angry outbursts when I knew it was okay to speak louder than I should have because you were my safe space.

I see it in how you let me go and spread my wings when it would have been much easier to hold on.

I see it in the way you love my babies in the way only grandmas can.

I see it in the loads of laundry you did while I lay in bed nursing my newborn.

I see in the way you never get to have the hot appam or the crispy dosa because there’s always us.

I see it in the little things you do – like shopping trips where you buy me the skirt I’d had my eye on or how you keep jars of lemon curd aside for us.

I see it in the fact that you never pretended to be perfect but let us see your vulnerabilities.

I see it in how you depend on God’s grace to cover all your mistakes and mine.

I see it in who I’ve become today.

Happy Mother’s Day! I love you.

(Dear reader, just a quick word of encouragement – you don’t need your own blog to tell your mom that she’s an amazing woman. I know sometimes the words get stuck in your throat. Maybe not all your memories together are ideal. Maybe you had an argument with her last week. But tell her anyway. There’s no better time than right now.)

 

Photo by Bonnie Kittle on Unsplash