"Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to let you in."

-- Robert Frost

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Mother's day ... real

Give me a day or two and just like everyone else, I'll write gushing posts about the beauty found in motherhood's journey.  It's the highest of life's callings, I know.  I love to celebrate my own mother.  She was the best.  I think what I love the most, however, is that she was the best at being real.


She says that Mother's day was riddled with guilt as we celebrated with flowers, gifts and at church -- uplifting messages about the compassionate, heavenly nature of mothers -- while she was silently recalling all her moments of harpie-ness.


Enter stage left ... me.


We're never on time to anything, ever.  This morning's first shift rush to the bus resulted in middle school kids sinking lower in my car as I waved and honked the bus driver to a stop.  Kids groaned about embarrassment and I harangued about accepting embarrassing consequences for lateness.  And then, I drove home grateful for a bus driver willing to wait on us so very often.


I decided she needed to be thanked because her patient waiting morning after morning is really the only thing that gets us everywhere we have to be.  She takes high school/middle school and then returns for our elementary.  That takes a lot of doing.


I put together a note accompanying a raffia tied brown sack of colorful eggs from our chickens this morning.  It was all I had on hand to say thank you and I thought to send it with my younger ones.


The elementary shift was upon us and suddenly kids couldn't find missing shoes ... and needed to argue about taking umbrellas on a cloudless day ... and got over excited about a variation in the usual lunch box contents leading to distraction  ... contributing to bus rush for the second time this a.m.


At the bus stop, our driver sat waiting.  I rushed a child that had one more thing to say to me even though she was late.  It left her frustrated.   She grabbed the neatly wrapped bag and note, smacked it on the door in passing, ran for the bus and I groaned aloud as the tell tale sound of cracked raw eggs rang in my ears.


And that's the reality of it.


Harpie-ness.


So, though my littlest wriggling all over my lap, just dropped a two pound hand weight she was playing with (?) on the keyboard and I can suddenly smell what I know will be a full scale battle in the changing, these are some of the real moments keeping me grounded today.









Happy Mother's day and may you dwell on the best of stuff.  Harpie-ness makes it that much sweeter.

2 comments:

  1. Look at your great pictures and your beautiful face and your sweet words. Too much fun my dear...too much.

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  2. Your family is BEAUTIFUL! Harpie-ness; How'd you guess my middle name? Thank heaven we have pictures to remind us of the few un-harpy moments.

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