for moms

My mom, sisters and I, captured by the ever so talented and wonderful Terra Nyce Photography

I never realized how incredibly difficult it was to be a mom until this September when I started teaching preschool. I didn't realize how much you could feel for one little person so deeply and truly and candidly, how you could be so in sync with another being, feeling and hurting and expressing with them as if it was yourself.

But that's simply being a mom and that's mind blowing to me.

Suddenly, mothers day cards became too generic and superficial, they're merely words on a page that only scratch the surface of a true mom. You find yourself thinking: "This would work for a robot mom, but not mine." I don't think you can ever fully capture the true essence who a mom is.

You can't capture the weight of her love for you. A weight so heavy and so real, she feels it's constant joy and at times, it's deep rooted pain. It is with her always, a burden she will bear long after you fly the coop. It is oftentimes the driving force behind her decisions, the words she speaks and the things she does. She feels with you so deeply because that love is a bond that was created the moment you were conceived. Your laughter, your tears, your shame, your joy, your pride, your pain, they are all things that your mother will feel with you, as if it were her own. You'll never be able to truly capture that she feels so much of you in her because you were once a part of her and that love is the connecting piece that constantly draws her to you.

You can't capture the thrill she gets when she sees you in the morning. Your snotty nose and bleary eyes, mouth caked with the filmy residue of dried drool. That flutter in her heart so distinct, so unique that it could only mean one thing: You.

You can't capture the many hours of fighting off sleep trying to nurse you back to health. The hours spent wringing out wet cloths to cool your feverish head, changing sheets soiled because you couldn't to make it to the bathroom in time or the times spent carefully measuring out "cherry" flavored medicines and coaxing you into swallowing the nasty concoction. You can't sufficiently capture other times where she anxiously googled all your late night symptoms on webMD, basking in the glow of her whirring laptop as your weary head rests on her lap watching those horrid cartoons that are only funny at 3 am when you're hopelessly sleepy. But more often then not, more sleepless hours were accumulated not because you were sick, but because she couldn't bear the thought of being away from you. So there she was at 3 am by your bed, stroking your dozing, unaware head, as she welled up with tears and this love for you so big and so real that at times it just crashed over her in relentless tsunami like waves.

You can't capture the joy that floods her when you score your first goal (and every goal after that) or the way her heart breaks when she sees those girls on the playground ignoring your sweet spirit. The way the mama bear she always swore she would never be rears her ugly head the first time that the neighborhood bully kicks you in the shins. You can't capture the meticulous way she researches and attentively listens to every book and resource she can find on childhood development when secretly she wishes she could just take a crash course on Motherhood 101. But then, you won't be able to capture the frustration she feels at herself when she gets the call from your teacher that you poked someone in the eye with a pencil and she thinks: "Where did I go wrong?"

And oh! You can't capture all the times she felt inadequate. There are weeks where her inadequacy is a constant pulse and beat beneath her skin, she's constantly and painfully aware of it, worried that each passing moment her lack of title as "SuperMom" is permanently damaging you for the rest of your life. There are times where she locks herself in the bathroom, curled up alongside the bathtub, water running to quiet the sound of her sobs, her mind racing and questioning why she ever signed up for this. You can't capture that those tears aren't because you're the worst kid to walk earth, but because she genuinely feels like she is the worst mom ever to the most perfect thing ever. (And at times she's acutely aware of your imperfection, but 90% of the time she thinks you're the best thing since sliced bread.)

You can't capture that burning desire she feels at times to talk to someone over the age of 5 and the intense longing she has for you when she finally gets a 10 minute reprieve in the form of grocery shopping. You can't capture all the little moments where she is overwhelmed by her role as mother, the joy and fulfillment that it brings her, a swinging pendulum of emotions.

But then the kids grow up and in that itself there is a new set of challenges and emotions.

Suddenly she's less appealing as her 5 year old turns 15 in the blink of an eye. You can't capture the sound of her shattered heart as you slam the door and scream: "I HATE YOU!' at her for the first time, nor every time that you say it after that. You can't capture the way she breaks a little with the distance that comes with maturity and growing up. That it means that she sees less of you and you're arrival home isn't met with: "Mommy I missed you!" but instead: "What's for dinner?"

You can't capture the welling of pride inside her chest as she sees you spread your wings, nor can you capture the sleepless nights she now spends waiting for you to get home, checking in on you when you're gone and missing you so fiercely when you finally head off to college.

You can't capture the hours spent in prayer for your future, constantly seeking and hoping the very best for you. You can't capture how many times she's battled to keep it together when she gets a glimpse at the fantastic person you're becoming, but inside she's bursting. Once again, she lays down at night and cries silent tears, but this time of happiness. She's a little more relieved at year 18 then she was at year 8 that maybe she hadn't ruined you for good and that you still had a fighting chance.

You can't capture motherhood in a card or a gift or a sweet sentiment. How could you? How could you capture a job that is ever evolving, growing, stretching and constantly a part of you? From the moment she finds out she's pregnant to her last breath she is constantly being and becoming and growing into her title as mother. Not for herself or anyone else but because of you. She wants to be the best so that she can give the best to you. You can't capture that selflessness anywhere else.

There isn't a job out there that requires so much of someone. So much strength, resiliency, patience, care, tolerance, love, emotional capacity, tears, or blood. There isn't enough time in a day or adjectives in the dictionary to encompass and do justice to the task of motherhood. I could spend the rest of my life trying, but I would fail miserably.

Motherhood is difficult. It requires carrying the weight of not only yourself but the ones you're entrusted with. You feel so deeply and love so genuinely it builds you up and breaks you all at the same time. Oftentimes you're exhausted but sustained by the joy of your job and the love you have for these little people that is so deeply engrained in you so quickly.

The more I grow up, the more I realize what a terrifying yet gratifying job mothering is. From the time I was tiny I always wanted to be a mom, but right now I'm perfectly content with being in awe of every single woman who wakes up and champions her role as a mother.

So for this mothers day I'm another year more acutely aware of how inadequate my words are and how futile my actions, but I also am more appreciative and taken aback by the women in my life who have raised me and given me examples of what it means to truly be a mother.

Because, did I forget to mention that sometimes mothering isn't by the same lady who birthed you (although I was lucky enough to have her in the picture too), but oftentimes we are mothered by those around us, even when we don't realize it? We float through life getting shaped and loved and encouraged and nurtured into people who then in turn do it to their own kids and sphere of people. You can't capture that motherhood extends and reaches and influences  a vast number of lives, ones that she never imagined or thought she touched. But she did, because that's what her job entitles.

To my mother in particular: Thank you for raising someone like me. So wild, crazy and outspoken, I'm sure I broke your heart more then I ever encouraged it but I wanted to let you know how thankful I am for you, your influence and your presence in my life. You have loved me, prayed me and pushed me into the semi decent, loud, obnoxious person I am today. I'm thankful that I was given you and not a robot mom because robot moms are only Mother's Day card material and you are so, so much more.

All moms are so much more then anyone or anything could ever capture.