The radio spots, chocolate advertisements and contests have done their part to remind me that Mothers Day is on Sunday May 11th, and as I sit to write this little reflection (which also acts as its own reminder) on Saturday morning after I have made my shopping list so as to make the missus her much deserved Eggs-Benedict on behalf of my daughter, I hearken back to my own mothers day revelation I had several months ago in the throws of winter. There I was, kneeling down for the umpteenth time to tuck my daughter’s gloves back into the sleeves of her snow suite, and then, turning to put my own boots and coat on, what do I hear? Well, none other than the subdued whimpering of my daughter begging me to re-tuck the gloves because they had slipped out again.
It was in the ensuing musical sigh of frustration as I knelt down to accommodate her request that I was suddenly struck with the urge to call my mother and thank her for all of the times she must have gone through the glove-tuck dance. Not necessarily to thank her for the act itself, but to tell her that I get it; I finally understand what love and sacrifice are all about. Tucking the gloves; it is an act that goes completely above and beyond the duties of protect and nurture. The gloves are on, the hands are protected from the elements, but that extra little step to accommodate the comfort of a child is wherein lies the nature of a mothers love; simply because the gloves don’t necessarily have to be tucked in, but a parent will habitually perform this little unnecessary task.
Sure, I can recall an untold number of times when my mother went above and beyond the regular expectations of providing me the basics of survival and heroically helped me steer the ship of my youth through the troubled waters of the 90’s. But it was those damn gloves and that sweet, but pathetic look on my daughter’s face spawned the sudden epiphany to call my mom.
Of course, I didn’t follow through with the urge as the planned outing into the snow could not have been put off at the time, and I didn’t think to follow up on the urge later in the day when a call would have been more opportune. But the thought stuck with me, and I filed it away in my mind to be used on May 11th.
We often make note that it’s the little things that count, and on Mothers Day we tend to augment that thought with remembrances of superhuman feats of emotional and physical support, but for me, it’s the combination of the two that will be lovingly penned in this years Mothers Day card.
This year, I will be celebrating the superhuman strength it takes to endure the patience of all those annoying little things that mothers have to do for us. As Dexter Holland of the 90’s band, The Offspring, writes, “the more you suffer, the more you really care. Right? Yeah.” Truly an empathetic understanding that, I believe, any son or daughter cannot be told, but rather needs to be experienced to genuinely understand.
Ryan Willman is the new reporter at the Arrow Lakes News
