My "Stay-At-Home" Moms

No, my dad was not a bigamist.  But the soul of this man is privileged to have been nurtured by two "stay-at-home" moms.  

To the "stay-at-home" mother of my boys.

You sacrificed so much in the past 5 years.  I remember my heartache of dropping Asher off at child-care because we needed you to work and I wasn’t done with grad school.  I can’t imagine what your own heart felt.

And now you have sacrificed the financial security of that job to be available to the boys.  I can tell you I have so much more peace now, knowing that you are there for them and with them. 

The boys we created together are delightful and wonderful and awesome.  But they have not been easy.  From Asher’s first year of reflux to Zephan’s fire-alarm loud calls for beverage cart service in middle of the night, you have endured admirably.  I know your honesty about the difficulties has also encouraged other moms and made them feel less lonely in their own struggles.  I think vulnerability about this very fundamental mom-identity (where the illusion of ever elusive perfectionism is to be maintained at all cost) may be the most courageous vulnerability of all. 

Thank you for being there for our boys, and for their father. It seems appropriate to end with the words of our eldest: “You’re the best one ever.”  We adore you.

For MY Mom

By the time I got to high school, my parents had the reputation of being “strict” because of curfews and some social restrictions and things.  People that had the so-called “cool” parents were more permissive.   But I can tell you that growing up, I definitely had the “cool mom.”  I remember “cooking soup” in the kitchen with my mom.  This basically involved me standing on a stool and being allowed to put any spices I wanted into a simmering pot and stirring.  I have no memory of tasting this “soup” which must mean either my mom talked me out of it, or I have buried that memory DEEP in my subconscious.  Along similar lines I remember the day my mom allowed me to attempt to make “mint juice” by grinding mint plants that grew on our property in a meat grinder and catching the “juice” in a cup.  Anyway, I attribute my current joy as a mad-scientist-style culinary "artist" to my mom. Once she even let my brother and I grind balloons in the meat grinder just because we wanted to see what would happen.  I’m sure in each of these scenarios, my MOM already knew what would happen (gross tasting hot water, undrinkably-bitter green “juice” and shredded balloons).  But she let us explore and find out for ourselves!  What a gift!

I also remember a LOT of reading with my mom.  Lots of stories of adventure and heroism.  I’m sure the reading we did is what has made me a reader today.  Along with that, my mom would take dictation and write stories that I told to go along with pictures I drew.  She treated (and still does treat) each of them as a work of art; the great American novel of a 7 year old.  My mom has held on to my creations and cherished my talents for three and a half decades.

Lastly, I remember (after reading) having fairly long conversations with my mom before bed.  She sat on the edge of the bed listening and talking and asking questions and listening some more.  I have no idea what we talked about, but I'm sure her esteem of what I had to say gave me confidence that I DID have something to say; that maybe I was worth listening to.  

As I have gotten older, her care and interest in me has not waned even slightly.  She is still my fan and will now eat my creations and read my blog and still listens to what I have to say.  

As I observe relationships, I see a lot of Genesis 2:24 being lived out.  It's stereotypical, but it seems to me that boys tend to become men who marry and leave their families, while women tend to stick closer; emotionally if not geographically.  (I confess I have forgotten my mom’s birthday before.  And Mothers Day.  She has never been anything but gracious.)

I expect this is a loss to mothers of boys.  To my mom.  Be that as it is, I want my mom to know today that I know and understand her love for me (now that I have children) in a way that I never did before.  I feel the blessing of being shaped by you and given by God into your arms.  I am SO thankful.