Tag Archives: parenting

It’s hard to write on Mother’s Day. Every year this holiday feels more fraught for me. While I know there are so many people out there enjoying picture perfect days, I can’t help thinking about all the emotions it drags up.

There are people who no longer have their mothers, people who are separated from their mothers by long distances, people who have mothers but have had to cut ties with them because of abuse or neglect or just plain hurtfulness, people who want to be mothers but aren’t, people who were mothers but aren’t anymore, people who are mothers but don’t have a partner to celebrate them. It just seems that every year more and more people I know fall into these categories.

And then there are those of us who feel like maybe we aren’t mother enough.

It’s that last thing I was thinking about when I wrote my essay for Listen To Your Mother. I found that no matter how I tried I couldn’t write a good essay about myself. Instead I came back to my mom, the person who exemplified motherhood for me. I have big shoes to fill, I’ll probably never fill them, but that’s okay.

While I know this can be a tough holiday, I wanted to send something positive into the universe today so I’m posting my essay and I hope you enjoy it. When the video is up I’ll be sure to post that as well.

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I am the oldest of four children. When it came time to start my own family, I wanted four children, too.

A year after my son was born, I amended that to three children.

And now that my daughter is here I’m pushing my husband to stop at two.

The fact that I ever wanted four children is a compliment to my Mom. I wanted four because she did it and she made it look easy.

Despite having all of us underfoot, my Mom always had her make-up perfectly done, she was always impeccably dressed, she always had a fantastic dinner prepared, she always had the house clean, and she always had us signed up for activities like ice skating or swim team. That’s right, my Mother is SuperMom.

As for me, I have only two children. One of them is at school five days a week. The other requires about as much supervision as a hamster. And yet I rarely put makeup on, I usually wear pajamas or yoga pants, I consider it a miracle if I have dinner made, the house is basically never clean and my kids are lucky if we get to playgroup once a month.

Because my mom so perfect, it’s not surprising that from a young age she worked hard to nurture my talents and abilities and teach me to work hard, get good grades and find places where I excel. One of those talents was music.

Before I go on, let me tell you a secret about my mom. Now that I’ve told you how great she is, I hope she’ll forgive me for sharing that she does have a flaw: my mom is tonedeaf. She can’t carry a tune. At all.

And yet through the magic of genetics, my siblings and I all inherited our father’s musical gifts. Though she can’t actually tell if we are on pitch, she always had confidence in us and was our #1 supporter and biggest fan. Not that it always worked out in our favor.

Supporting us meant not just the benefits of piano and violin and voice lessons but checking out every single musical and opera in the library’s video collection. It meant I spent hours as a young child listening to tapes telling the life stories of the great composers and playing their music. She was determined to give us a real musical education.

She was also determined to show the world what we could do. That’s where the videos came from. I’m hoping that in my lifetime not one of those suckers gets digitized and uploaded.

Imagine the 4 of us, towheaded and smiling, standing on the stairs, the three girls wearing matching Christmas jumpers and a festive sweater for my only brother, the youngest. The girls have our hair curled from having spent the night with it rolled up in our old baby socks. We sing together, we break into solos and duets. There are plodding but earnest attempts from those of us who play instruments. There are fake smiles and cheesy introductions. It’s the kind of effort only an elderly relative could enjoy.

But outside of these forced performances I loved music. When I was in high school I set my ambitions high. I had my heart set on being the best soprano in the school. I wanted to have the lead role in the school musical. I watched the girls ahead of me and imagined I would someday fill their shoes though I had no idea how I would do it.

Left to my own devices these dreams might have stayed dreams. Sure, I would’ve slowly climbed the ladder and after paying my dues I’d be rewarded my senior year just like everybody else. But what my mother lacks in musical talent she makes up for in showmanship and she saw the same possibilities that I did.

She told me I had a face for the stage. At the time I took this as a high compliment, though it strikes me now that it could be interpreted to mean one looks better far away than one does up close. She wanted me to audition for the role of Mabel in Pirates of Penzance. The role was destined for a senior girl, the current ruling soprano of the school and no one questioned the outcome, including me. A week before auditions I didn’t even know I was capable of singing those cascading high notes. I’d considered nothing more than the chorus. When Mom told me I could be Mabel (which she still adorably pronounces “May-bell”) I doubted her. After all, she had no ear for music. She didn’t know how difficult it was. She couldn’t understand how unqualified I was for one of the most difficult parts to sing in all of musical theater. But my Mom is a force of nature and, after all, I had to sing something.

So I learned the song. I practiced. And since she couldn’t help me with the singing, she helped me do one of the things she does so well: put on a good show.

I didn’t beat out that senior girl for the part. But I did get double-cast with her, surprising everyone, including myself.

There are videos of this, too, my great performance. Frozen in time for all to see: there I am, doing exactly what I wanted to do. How often does that happen? How many of these wishes ever get granted? That video tape is at my parents’ house. In it, I see myself, ringlets and braces and awkwardness and confidence, and it makes me happy to see myself doing what I wanted so badly to do.

My Mom knew I had Mabel in me, she knew it wasn’t a fluke. All my life she’s seen things in me I haven’t been able to see in myself.

I enjoy knowing that even now when we see each other and I have gained weight and wear glasses and look utterly frazzled verging on unkempt, that my Mom still sees May-bell in me. And because of that, I do, too.