Where I’m meant to be on Mother’s Day

Lately, I’ve woken to a chorus of “Mommy, mommy, mommy.” The twins have discovered that they wake up and immediately want to play. To achieve that goal, they have found that they can open our bedroom door and chant in the hallway.

It’s only a matter of time before they’re pouncing on the bed.

So, when my husband asked me what I wanted to do to celebrate Mother’s Day, my immediate thought – not uttered aloud – was a hotel weekend. Not being bothered before I was ready to wake up, going to the bathroom in peace, having an actual hot cup of coffee.

You know, the things that no one tells you when you’re in the glowing stages of pregnancy.

Instead, I told him I’d think about it and get back to him.

Because, as all parents will tell you, parenthood is wild. You can simultaneously wish for those moments of quiet and miss the chaos. I know. I’ve had hotel mornings for professional conferences. And what do I do? I still wake up early and FaceTime my kids while they’re getting ready and having breakfast.

The truth, after all, is that those moments of quiet are oddly unfamiliar. In the moment, when I’m trying to be calm, and I’m repeating my instructions to “please put your socks and shoes on your feet” or to “please keep the milk for your cereal in the bowl,” the image of crisp, white sheets and the promise of solitude are awfully enticing.

Motherhood has not only perfected my art of nodding patiently and beginning many statements with “I hear that you’re frustrated” – the same methods used on college students who come at the last minute to my office trying to raise their Cs to As. Being a mom has shown me the need to not only practice patience, but to model respect, care and empathy.

We live in dangerous times. I’ve begun to limit my news intake, because it’s just so horrifically miserable. Violence, hate, corruption, vitriol. I often think back to the many Batman movies that I watched with my brother and wonder: are we living in Gotham City?

As parents, and especially as mothers, we have a heavy duty upon us. How can we hope for change if we continue cycles of violence, disrespect and hate?

When I look at my sons, I see their innocence – the ways in which they copy and mimic everything that my husband and I do and say. When I look at them, I am reminded not of the chaos, but of my God-given responsibility.

My sons will know what it’s like to share their feelings, to ask for help, to provide comfort and support when needed. They’ll know to stand up not only for themselves, but for those who can’t find their voices. They’ll know the true meaning of bravery and strength – not in the fists, but in the power of words and humility.

How do I know that that’s the kind of men they’ll become? Because that’s what they’ll see in our household.

And so, for this Mother’s Day, I’m not escaping my home. I’m thriving in it.

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