A LiveChicken Mother's Day

Mother's Day will forever be a strange time for me, thanks to two things: It falls during the same week as the anniversary of my breast cancer diagnosis, and on Mother's Day, thousands of people walk right past my house for a community fundraiser for breast cancer. So it's like Mother's Day=breast cancer around here. It's weird, and sad, and confusing, and there's a lot of pathos and reverse nostalgia mixed into the whole mess.



But that's not the only reason Mother's Day is different in these parts.

The messages of Mother's Day are often lost on me, including the main one: that I should be celebrated because I am a mother and mothering is unbelievable and I am the only mother who could ever mother my children and there is no work more important than this.

I love my kids and I think parenthood is an exciting, entertaining, worthwhile trip. I've learned a lot from them, these small people, probably as much as they've learned from me. I would die for them--literally, I would throw myself under the actual, not just the proverbial, bus for them.

But I'm not LIVING for them. I would be living fully without them. Now--I would not be living fully if I had to live without them NOW, because that would mean something unthinkable had happened. But my life would be worthwhile and meaningful if I had never had kids. People say "I was meant to be a mother," "I always knew I wanted to be a mother," and "this is the only thing I've ever wanted" and I think, huh. Becoming a parent seemed like a natural progression to me and I wanted to have a family with my husband, but I didn't dream of motherhood any more than I ever dreamed of the perfect wedding.

When I was younger, I dreamed about having adventures and falling in love and being a writer and being able to do things like sing and dance well. I dreamed about being a grownup who lived in her own apartment in a big city and rode the subway to work. I dreamed about getting old and sitting in a rocking chair and looking around and realizing that all my people, no matter who they happened to be, were all right.

Some of those dreams came true, and some did not. And once I had kids, I was still the same person, though I loved them differently than I ever loved anyone else. I just never figured that my love would be questioned because I was a less exuberant or purposeful mother. So these days, my kids follow MY routine. Their schedules need to fit into our schedules. We place a hell of a lot of importance on our relationship with each other, even if it makes them jealous. Hell, maybe in some ways BECAUSE it makes them jealous, and helps them learn that there's a wide world outside of them and that world is filled with love too.

If I were to die, and that is a less rhetorical statement for me than for other moms, I know my kids would suffer. I also think my husband could raise them without me, and that someone could take my place as their mother.

Now, I don't think anyone could ever be ME, but someone could still hold the place of mother in their lives if I weren't here. This happens all the time, for a variety of reasons--death, divorce, parents being unable or unwilling to care for their kids--and people step in and the kids turn out just fine. Maybe it's that thought that keeps me so intent on being ME, because that is the unique thing that I have to offer to them. Sure, I'm a kick-ass baker and I am an expert at distracting people (including adults) away from their own frustration and pain, but other people are good at those things too. But you know what?

I'm the one that the traditional Mother's Day cards and gifts weren't made for, so I get other things instead.



Messages about letting mom have time to herself, leaving her alone in the bathroom, letting her take a bath and all of that?

Please.

I do my own shit all the time. Much of it involves working out, but I also sit here writing or I collapse on the couch after dinner or watch basketball for an entire month and ignore them and God help anyone who comes in the bathroom when I am in there for any reason, I mean ANY reason unless there is a LOT of blood involved.

Breakfast in bed?

RUGRATS OUT OF MY KITCHEN. and of course RUGRATS OUT OF MY BED.

Pedicure?

Um, yes please, if my husband does it for me using the skills he picked up during all those years he hung out at the nail salon where his grandma worked, because chemo JACKED UP these toenails.

A bottle of wine and cozy slippers?

Girl, I have that messed up sulfur allergy and most slippers are ugly. How about a bourbon, neat, and a wedge heel?

Inspirational books?

My brother sent me a poetry book about the war in Iraq.

Cuddling and spooning and foreplay?

Um, OK, if it's Father's Day because that's more Gabe's shtick and I am a meat and potatoes girl, if you know what I'm saying, and did I mention that my kids are little and go to bed early and at 9 pm around here it's pretty much always Katy and Gabe party time? And as for the spooning, I love that! For a few minutes. But can someone explain one of the great mysteries of marriage to me? Why, when we have a king sized bed, do I have to fall asleep with his knee on my ass? WHY?

Chocolate?

Yes! Definitely. But I am married to a chocoholic whose addiction is so severe that he once literally hoarded chocolate at the neighbor's house and told them not to tell me. So that comes with a lot of baggage.

Flowers? Jewelry?

Yes, I do like flowers, and I get those fairly regularly from my husband, which is nice. And now that I have pierced ears, I like getting earrings, though I REALLY like to pick them out myself.

Really sappy and sentimental cards?

Gabe loves these. I just, I don't, I mean, I can't even.

Chick flicks?

No, not really. When I am nervous and want to relax I watch Bond or Bourne movies.

There is nothing like being a mother.

True, but there is nothing like being anything that is different than all other experiences.

No work is harder than mothering.

Parenthood is hard, in that it is hectic and the love you feel almost hurts and you become paranoid and the whole thing is a leap of faith. But also, it's FUN. It's not like some thankless chore. I can think of a lot of work that's harder, like working in a sweatshop or a coal mine or scavenging through garbage just to survive or being a sex worker or cleaning up other people's messes when those people are not related to you or a thousand other things.

Cheesy cards and crafts made by my kids?

OK, these are usually awesome. Especially when they tell you that they are making a surprise and then they show it to you right then and there or say things like "it's a bracelet made out of paperclips and that was just a HINT mommy."

A day at the salon or spa?

I can barely be bothered with hair anymore. One of my fondest motherhood memories will always be the first day I went to Lenny's daycare bald, after I stopped caring if other kids would ask her questions. I was all prepared to face the onslaught, as the day before I had worn a chin-length red wig and a few weeks before I had long, curly red hair. I walked in and some of the parents and teachers looked away. A little kid, about Lenny's age so maybe 4, stared right at me. With a look of utter boredom on her face, she shouted: "LENNY! Your mom's here." So, no to the salon, though I do have to go more often to get it cut now that it's short. And a big NO to the facial or waxing or anything like that because let's face it that is just PAIN, and beauty is NOT pain, not in my opinion. I do appreciate a massage and I have been practically saved from the abyss by acupuncture, but that shit still reminds me of cancer so no thanks to that too.

I'm not hard to please--really, I'm not. I like to have good food and conversation with my kids and my family and friends on Mother's Day. I like to get some exercise, and I like to be left alone. I like to have a drink and have sex and I like to sit outside if the weather's decent. I like to think about making it to another Mother's Day, because that seemed like a long shot three years ago. I like my kids. Of course I love them, but that's the easy stuff. I also LIKE them.

On Mother's Day, I like the things that I like every other day. I claim many of those things for myself and I don't feel guilty, not for one minute, not any more than a man would feel guilty for being himself when he's single, married, a father, a widower, or whatever. I will not be the one to say that being married and having children is my life's work.

That's what my husband said the other day, and I believe him.

I don't know that I have a life's work. But I know that I have this life, and I love it, and I appreciate it, and I hope I have a lot more of it.

And now, I have to go.

The boys have left the house, and it's time to kick my daughter's little 40 pound behind in a friendly game of gin. Happy Mother's Day!