My Mother's Day

How I’m spending Mother’s Day

It is Mother’s Day. My mom always says that Mother’s Day is especially for the mothers who are still raising kids. They are the ones who need a break and a special treat.  I am still one of those moms. I have three teenaged sons and one extra teenager, on loan from Italy, this year. I fully intended to do exactly what I wanted to do on Mother’s Day this year, and I have—so far.

I slept in late. I had coffee with my husband. Then I spent about three hours cleaning the house by myself. I put in my earbuds, turned the music up loud enough so I couldn’t hear my own singing, and started in the kitchen while Sam worked upstairs in our room and our teenagers left me alone.

I washed dishes, scrubbed countertops, cleaned a bathroom, vacuumed, wiped down furniture, cleared clutter—all while singing along with Adele and Maroon 5 and Ed Sheeran and Snow Patrol. It was exactly what I wanted to do, and exactly what I so often cannot do.

It is a rare day that I am not prevented from doing something because of pain or exhaustion. This morning the pain was minimal—the burning had not started in my hands yet, the numbness and throbbing was not in my feet or legs, my shoulders, elbows, back, and hips felt remarkably okay. The aches and weariness weren’t there. So I cleaned.

I know it’s more common for kids to do things for the mom on Mother’s Day rather than the mom do extra work. In my case, though, my kids do extra work every day because of my health. They help me cook, they help me grocery shop—or they do those things on their own. They usually clean the house while I act as supervisor. Every night they clean up after dinner. They do their own laundry. They take care of our giant bulldogs—I don’t have the strength to take them out to pee. They open jars that are too tight. They help me get up when the pain is really bad. They walk slower so I’m not left behind. They make me cups and cups and cups of coffee. They distract me when it hurts. They get things I can’t reach.

They never complain about my health. They never make me feel bad about feeling bad. They let me hug them for as long as I need to. They are patient when I am struggling. They are sensitive and kind when I am overcome with frustration with all that this dumb disease has taken from me, even though I have it so good.

But this morning was not really about giving them a break, even though I am sure they were happy about not having to do quite as many chores, and I was happy to give them a break. It was more about me getting to do something I would have done with ease before. The difference this morning was that it was not as easy, but it was much more filled with joy. I felt like me. I felt useful. Also, I love singing with Adele.

​I think I will skip cooking dinner tonight, though. Pizza in front of the television with my husband, our boys, and the bulldogs sounds perfect. Plus the kitchen is so clean right now.