Mom and I during our next-to-last Mother’s Day together.
John and I have been watching The Flash on Netflix with The Tots. Though I missed the first few episodes, the gist is that The Flash is a meta-human who can run super fast. He gained this superpower by being struck by lightning and particles from a particle simulator explosion simultaneously. Other people in Central City were also affected by the explosion and became meta-humans, each having their own mind-blowing talents.
As I watch this show, I see so many parallels between meta-humans and mothers — to the point that the titles are almost interchangeable. Though I could go on a power trip by thinking that being a mother is the same as being a superhero (it often is), I’d rather change the narrative. Mothers shouldn’t be expected to be superheroes or meta-humans. We should be expected to be human like everyone else.
I grew up in the 1970s when parenting wasn’t so hands on. Sure, my mom worked hard to give me a wonderful life, but she also spent hours reading Danielle Steel novels, sipping Crystal Light and pursuing things she was interested in. She’d send me out into our neighborhood with a Timex on my wrist and instructions to be home for dinner. The result was a glorious childhood filled with adventure and a little risk-taking, some of which got me grounded.
During the past few months, I’ve been struggling with various issues in my life. (That’s why you haven’t seen any Winks lately.) One of the big things I’m wrestling with is figuring out who I am. I’m grateful to be a mom, and anyone who knows me well knows the hell I went through to become one. That’s all well and good, but over the past 11 years, I’ve poured so much into motherhood that I haven’t left any room for Lori. I take the blame for neglecting me, but I also point the finger at society and the ridiculous demands being made of mothers these days.
Talking to friends and simply observing other mothers, it’s clear that the expectations of moms are at an all time high. Not only do we have to keep our kids alive and healthy, but we also need to make sure every second of their lives is amazing. We split our time between SignUp Genius and waiting in parking lots while our kids learn yet another skill to make them meta-humans. Our cars have become our homes, and so many times our self-worth becomes wrapped up in how many practices or rehearsals our kids have each week. It’s perpetuating a toxic environment for moms — and for our children. And quite frankly, it’s driving me nuts.
Of course, I want my kids to have a wonderful life and learn to do all kinds of things. Sure, I want them to find a pastime or sport that interests them and pursue it with the passion than I pursued theatre and music. But along the way, I want them to learn that you can’t always get what you want. (By the way, that’s my second favorite song of all time, and I really hope The Stones reschedule their concert. Please!)
Life isn’t always going to be perfect, and if we mothers continue to raise our kids in an environment where they think that’s the case, it can only go nuclear at some point. Kids need to face disappointments. They need to fail at things. They need to know that moms need a life too, and that sometimes everything is not going to be okay but that they will survive.
One of the most important lessons my mom taught me occurred during my senior year of high school. The beauty of this lesson is that I didn’t get it until this year. In a nutshell, my mom wasn’t home for my senior prom. She wasn’t there to help me get ready or to take pictures in our yard. She wasn’t there to hear all about it when I returned home. She wasn’t there the next morning when my date and I went to church in our prom ensembles, which was a thing in the South during the ’80s for reasons unbeknownst to me.
My mom missed all of that because she wanted to go to a conference in California with her friends, so she did. At first, I blew it off because I was a cool teenager who didn’t need her mom. Later on, I’d tease her about it and lace my jokes with a shot of guilt to get her to buy me something and/or make her feel a little bad, but she knew what she was doing.
First of all, she knew my prom date was a flake and that there was no way this dude would be around long term. (She was right, as we broke up the next month.) Second, I had already gone to the junior prom, so she had been through the hoopla. Third, she wanted to teach me that moms should and CAN do things for themselves, even if it involves missing a sliver of their children’s precious lives. That’s the part I didn’t get until recently.
Looking at my calendar to see where my time goes, it’s obvious that I haven’t been great about doing things for myself. I’m not talking about pedicures, facials or long baths, I’m talking about pursuing things that I’m interested in. For a long time, I judged moms who did that. How dare they join a tennis league or do a show with the community theatre? What kind of mother would go on a long vacation without her kids? How dare they neglect their children?
Well, the joke is on me. They were right, and I was so very wrong. What I didn’t get was that making everyone else’s life amazing was slowly eroding my own. And it really is true that if mama isn’t happy, no one else is either.
That’s what my mom wanted to teach me that all those years ago, and I had no idea. She wanted to show me that you can be a great mother and still live your own life. In fact, doing so makes you a better mom and an even better person. She had a great time on her trip, and I didn’t die because she wasn’t there for my senior prom. Instead, it ended up becoming one of my favorite memories of her.
So as I experience my second Mother’s Day without mom, I can only hope she knows what a gift she gave me years ago. I’m still figuring out how to incorporate it into my life, but at least I’m on the right track — all because of her.
Happy Mother’s Day, mom.