Crying moms

-

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
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

When good results disappoint

-
Image
"If you don't find something you can fix, I will be greatly disappointed," I stated matter-of-factly to my cardiologist. And I was serious. Dead serious. I was laying in my hospital bed waiting to be wheeled into the cath lab to get a clear picture of what was happening--or not happening--inside those skinny little coronary arteries. If he did not find something to stent, like he did five years ago, my symptoms would have no chance of being validated. I will spare you all the details, but my running has really taken a dive over the last few months. The group of women I run with can be chatting it up having a great time, only to unintentionally pull away and leave me eating their dust. I try to keep up but it's like my engine is throttled back by a governor, heart rate zooming upwards to no avail. I simply can't go. I feel my chest tighten and throat close. I have to walk. I hate being the anchor. Lately, I make excuses to why I can not join them on those long Satu...
Read more

666 miles of Hell(gate)

-
Image
"Last verse, same as the first." In same ways, yes. My last race was the same as my first: I started. I finished. But in many ways, there's no comparison. It took ten finishes and 666 miles  of the devilish Hellgate 100K race to figure it out. The brainchild of Dr. David Horton, the Hellgate 100k+ (actually 66.6 miles) always begins at one minute after midnight on the second Saturday of December. The race has garnered a near cult-following, many hopeful entrants turned away. Those rewarded a cherished spot must earn Horton's approval as a worthy candidate. It is he who judges an applicant's toughness and ability to cover the rocky, mountainous real estate between the start and finish lines. But even so, the chosen few are never guaranteed a finish. What they are promised is a night and a day of unpredictable weather, trail conditions, and a barrage of self-doubt somewhere along the forest path. I was forty-five when I sold my soul to the trail devils. N...
Read more

Win a free scarf!

-
Image
Over the years, I have enjoyed home parties. You know the kind: a bunch of women gather, a representative lays out her wares (everything from kitchen tools to jewelery, to makeup and skin care products that promise a glowing, beautiful face), and the attendees pick, choose, and fill out order forms. I've been both a rep and a hostess. Back in the late 70's I made sewed crafty items and held my own little in-home selling parties. Years later, I sold for The Pampered Chef (TM) since I loved the products. But alas, I gave up because I didn't feel right about asking already financially-strapped folks to buy what they could probably live without. Yeah. I'm not much of a saleswoman. Borrowed from www.mytradesofhope.com/tamarawalston But every one in a while, a business idea comes along that grabs my attention. I found that in 'Trades of Hope.' Until about a month or two ago, I had never heard of this group. But then I came across a friend's post, Tamara Wal...
Read more