Mother's Day Mussings.

Just like every other month of May, my mind wanders and I think of my own Mother. As all my faithful blog readers can attest to, the months of April and May are the hardest months for me. April is when my mom and I stoped talking. There was no explosive argument. That had happened months before. We danced around that elephent untill it couldn't be ignored anymore. After months of acramony, we just stoped talking. And, of course, May is the month of Mother's day. I dread this holiday almost from the start of each new year. I am gearing myself up for an other Sunday where I hear praises of other's Mothers. I am the Sunbeams teacher in our ward, and the primary kids are learning a beautiful song about mothers that they will sing during sacrament on Mother's day. Every time they practice it, I have to remind myself not to start crying. Tiny little innocent voices singing about the love of a mother is almost more then I can handle. Don't get me wronge, I love that daugters everywhere have a mother to call when they get wonderful news, or when they are in need of comfort. I love that they have someone to call when they are just to sick to take care of their kids that day, or call for just a friendly chat. It's just that I don't have that, and I want it just as much as my lungs want air.
Each time this time of year rolls around, Chad always reminds me that this holiday is mine, because I am a mom. He tells me that this holiday is to honor my role in our family. Although I love him for his attempts to cheer me up, I can't help be feeling just a little bit sorry for myself. I see mothers and daughters shopping in the mall, and it tugs at me. I wonder if those daughters know how lucky they are to have someone in there life that loves them unconditionally? I wonder what could be wrong with me. My mother's love for me came with conditions. When I didn't meet those conditions, I lost her. Maybe not her love, I am sure she loves me. She is after all my mother. But I lost the "privilege" of having a supportive presants in my life. Is a princable more important then a person? Is being right more powerful then the heart of your child?
I have received phone calls from family and friends telling me about how broken hearted my mom is. Each time I tell them that I am here, waiting for the day that my mom will knock on my door. I hope for that moment and fear it at the same time. This is how we communicate these days, through the mouth of others. After those conversations, I know that what I say will get back to my mom, so I wait, certain that my message of needing her would have fallen on her ears. But I wait in vain. No knock lands on the wood of my door, no letter makes it into the depths of my mail box. And although I love that she gives my kids cards and toys, I want her to give the gift of herself so much more. It is like looking into a cloudless sky and yearning for a rain drop. I have no idea what her number might be or where she is living at. She has moved around a couple of times since she and my dad divorced. She knows where I am while I am in the dark as to where she might be. Even in this little silent war of hers, she is still holding the strings, she is still the puppet master, just like it was when I was a child in her home.
I am afraid of her. My own mother. She has taken away my confidence in who I am. If your own mother can't accept you, warts and all, then how can you expect anyone else to? I know what I can do to have my mom finally come knocking at my door, but it is a sacrifice I am not willing to make. Chad is the love of my life, the father of my children. It wouldn't be just my sacrifice, it would be my children's as well. To take them away from a loving father, how is that a good idea for anyone involved? I will not apologize for the love I have for him.
I now question how I parent my own children every single day of their lives. Evan is easier for me, and not because he is an easier child. In many ways, he is more demanding then Lauren. It is because he is my son, a boy. Lauren is a girl, my daughter. I screwed up my first "mother/daughter" relationship. I don't want to ruin the one I have with her. I worry all the time when it comes to her. I remember holding her for the first time in the hospital all by myself. No nurses, no visitors, and no Chad. Just me and my little baby. I looked into her big blue eyes, the deep color of blueberries. She was this little bundle with skin the color of peach's and cream and a smell that was twice as sweet. Her gaze was so open and honest. I felt so close to this little spirit in my arms. And as she grows, her light just grows with her. She is so tender hearted. Even at her age, she never says anything bad about an other person. If someone took a toy away from her, she tells me that maybe they needed the toy more then her. She is so concerned about the safety of her little brother, and her little friends that she might be playing with. She pulls little kids away from the edge of the water when we are at the duck pond, and she gives her last piece of bread to a crying little girl she never met before so that crying little girl will smile. Her now green eyes are not the eyes of a four year old, but the eyes of a soul much older and wiser then her tender years. She uses big words like "stupendous" and "exceptional". She throws her skinny arms around me and gives me hug full of so much love and need as her long hair drips down my arm like syrup. But even though I have been blessed with this "exceptionally stupendous" little lady, I find myself constantly second guessing every move I make as a mother to her. Am I doing what in right by my little Lauren? Am I being to hard on her? Am I being to soft with her? Am I being judgemental? Am I letting her be her, helping her spread her wings instead of clipping them?
I have good memories of my mom too. I remember once, I was in second grade and I heard over the speaker that hung just above our blackboard in the relocatable that was my class room the secratary informing Mr. Olsen that "Melissa Flaten's mother is here to pick her up for her Dr's appointment." I gathered my things while thinking to myself that I didn't even realize that I had a Dr.'s appointment that day. I walked across the then abandoned playground and into the school building where my mom was waiting for me at the front desk. To my surprise, my mom took me not to a Dr's appointment, but to the mall instead. For no reason at all, just because. That was a great day. It is hard for me to reconcile those fun memories with the sad ones.
I make mistakes. I am learning and growing. I feel sometimes like a misfit toy. You know the ones in Rudolf the Red Nose Reindeer? I feel like I have been sent to the island of misfit toys by my mom, my brother and my sisters. I ache to pick up the phone and call my little sister, but every time I do, she is always to busy to talk. She is the only one of my family (besides my dad) that I have a semi-relationship with. And yet, when ever she visits, I don't even know she is in town untill she calls me on her way back to the airport to fly back home. It hurts me. I feel banished by the ones who should love me far and above anyone else. And what is my crime? Standing by my husband, loving him fericly, taking my temple convents I made with him seriously? I will not let Lauren ever feel that kind of abandonment. I will always carry around this hollow hole in my heart, but she will never have the same kind of hole to carry if I can help it.
I cling to the acceptance that Chad's sisters have for me, and I Cherish the love that both of Chad's moms have shown me. I treasure the love that Chad's dad gives me. I think these little gifts of family mean more to me then any other gift I could be given. Little things that Chad's family does for me fills me with wonder. Traci calling me her sister, Shari giving me advice when I need it, Kari being there for me as a strong and sturdy support. Ryan's advice for me as I struggle to work out and get back in shape. Even Dawn, Nikki and Jennifer loving my kids and me as if I were always a part of the family. All of these little things make me feel like I am part of a family again.
I am totally rambling, I don't know where I am going with this. All I know is that my kids will always have me there, no matter what. It was just me, then Chad loved me and took me for his own. He gave me a home, he gave me a daughter and then a son, and he will continue to be my family. Family. What a simple word for such a complex multi-fasited concept. I love my family. All I want is for Lauren and Evan to know that when they cry, I will be there. If they should fall (literally and figurativly), I will catch them. When they feel sad, they need not feel alone. I think that as long as they know their mother loves them unconditionally (which is how a mother should love), then all the mistakes I make won't matter to much. Because I am a Mother, in the truest meaning of the word.