Crying moms

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We are strange creatures, we moms. Initial momhood is approached with the greatest care. Then we cry.

All the latest and greatest paraphernalia is gathered. Closets are crammed with more outfits than a child could possibly wear fearing dislocated arms and legs from the constant redressing of the babe. A "paci" that falls on the floor is boiled until the rubber melts into a disgusting blob. We watch them slumber. We cry.

Every label is studied to make sure optimal nutrition is achieved and visits to the pediatrician planned out in orchestrated organizational brilliance. And then they go to school. We cry some more.

Spelling lists. Projects. Cupcakes at two o'clock in the morning for the next day's party. Playground bumps and bruises. Hurt feelings. He said, she said. Clandestine notes written in algebra. The repercussion of said note being found by the teacher. Soccer practice. Late games. Uniforms to clean and desperate searches for the one shoe that always goes AWOL. Ring and spring dances. Cotillion elegance and limousines. Senior thesis projects and final exams. Then it's over. Or is it? Sniff. Sniff.

Hardly. Sometimes it seems like just the beginning. Moms laugh. Moms cry. Moms cry a lot. Even when they were little, my boys knew when I was working up to it on family movie night. "You're nose is twitching. Betcha gonna cry!" But we don't just cry when we are sad. We cry when we are happy--or when we have nothing better to do. Can be confusing. Can't really explain it.

I'm not the only one. I called a student's mom the other day. "You have a wonderful daughter. She is a delight and is doing so well," I explained. Today I got an email from the girl.

She said, ". . .My mom told me you called her and that made me feel happy to have a teacher I have never met, but takes the time to call :) Thanks, and you made her cry, but don't feel bad because she cries at a lot of things. . ."

Now I laugh. I laugh because us moms are so predictably unpredictable. So many emotions and so few ways to express our deepest fears and greatest joys. So, we cry. Don't argue. Just go with it and pass the tissues.

Comments

Rick Gray said…
Tammy has a saying that she says to me and also to her students, "Do you need a tissue for your issue" or in my case for my issues (plural). I am not a mom, nor am I even a dad, so I have very little knowledge on child rearing, but I can tell you one thing, I am glad the two sexes are different!!!
January 25, 2010 at 6:24 PM
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