"You're the only one that works for me."

The how-to and self-help books on mothering, daughtering, sistering, and being a friend would probably reach the moon if you stacked them one on another.
And yet, in the midst of all these relationships, where is the time to read about them and follow the latest suggestions? Really, where does one start?

I've received beautiful guidance on mothering, mostly through osmosis, from my own mother, my grandmothers, my sisters-in-law, stories about Chris' mother, and from beloved teachers like Monica, Carrie, and Joanna, not to mention all the mothers I've met along the way.

Of course, my best teachers are right under my nose.

Just the other day, I was feeling so guilty and responsible for some issues that Zoey's struggling with, and my friend said, 'you don't have the answer, you are her answer.' This very simple statement masks a complex and, for me, intimidating notion.

I was still rolling it around in my head yesterday when I received this card from Stella:

"You are the only mom that works for me."

With all my strengths and all my flaws, I am the only mom working for her. In more ways than one.

Luckily, I appear to be meeting her job requirements:

I am giving her all I've got, which sometimes doesn't feel like enough because contrary to an optimistic theory out there, parents are still selfish people who sometimes long to sit and read the Sunday Times, drink coffee, wait for their allergy medicine to kick in before moving, and be quiet, as I so wished to do yesterday morning. I'm not sure I received the girls' heartfelt Mother's Day gifts and cards with the vigor that I would have liked to, but I felt their love and so hope they feel mine.

In the blur of fumbling through finding my way on this journey, I return over and over to this Sweet Honey In The Rock song, "On Children," which was my favorite lullaby to sing to Stella and Zoey, and is as close to an anthem as I've got.

Here are the lyrics, which are taken from a section of Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet:

On Children

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but they are not of you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but you cannot to make them like you.


Here are a few photos from our Mother's day:

Chris left this for me before he headed off for his fishing trip on Friday.

 

A visit to Carmen at Rae's place!

Although it's now quite warm, Stella refuses leave the house in anything other than her winter boots. I suppose boots are kind of a legitimate security blanket for a Montanan.