Pretty Things Can Wait

Every Mother's Day for the past few years my father has sent flowers to the three women in his life: my mom, my sister, and me. That might sound a little strange to you, but I think it's beautiful. Mom's flowers are to thank her for the great job she did raising us. (Hey...we turned out well!) My sister and I receive flowers to thank us for being such good mothers to our children, Dad's grandchildren. My sister's children are 15 and 18, so the hard work is behind her. It's now up to them to take the lessons she's taught them and to find their places in the world.They're both really good kids, so she can rest easy that she's done her job well. I, on the other hand, am still in the midst of the formative years, so the pressure is on.

My sister's flowers have a place of honour in her dining room, on a lovely buffet with a pretty white runner. Mine are hidden in my room, on top of my dresser. At least they are now that I've moved the toys, books, diaper cream, and assorted other child-related things off "my" dresser to make some room for them. And even then, they still only got a corner.

As I stood in front of my dresser tonight I was hit by a pang of jealousy that I can't display my flowers like my sister can. For a second or two I was actually consumed with resentment of the fact that all my pretty things have had to be packed away, safe from little hands. The two headless figurines now hidden behind my flowers are a testament to lessons learned the hard way. But as I stared around my disaster of a bedroom, with its dirty diapers on the bed, toys strewn about the floor and out-grown clothes piled in the corner, the absurdity of it all struck me.

For I am a mother -- Mom, Mommy, Momma -- to two adorable monkeys. They are the reason for both receiving the flowers and for not being able to display the flowers. Without them and their dirty little faces, their pudgy little hands, their silly little giggles, and their soft little kisses, there would be no flowers. There would be no me...for that is who I am. That is who I was made to be. Mom...Mommy...Momma to these two precious little boys.

Pretty things can wait.