I was great at Mother’s Day when I was a little girl. I always treated it like my mom’s own personal Christmas Day, like I was her mom and she was my only child. I got excited about spoiling her, about picking flowers from the neighbor’s garden and putting them in a vase for her, about writing her a poem in a homemade card at school. I remember not being able to sleep on Mother’s Day eve for all the excitement, the joy I planned to spread for her the next day. In some ways, we were both at our best on Mother’s Day. I loved being the boss, and I think she loved to be seen for the day. To be the center of my world in a way she never got to be on any other day of the year.
I kept it going through high school and I remember it brought me a lot of joy. I loved arranging a Sunday brunch for her. I loved being the person who made sure she got recognized. Loved reminding my younger brothers to buy a card. Paying attention to her little wish list and getting her something special. A cute top. A pedicure gift certificate. The delight on her face when she opened a present, like a child again in all the best ways.
Our ritual petered out and died completely when I became a mom myself. I was so young, just 21 years old at the time. I was so very focused on all of my new roles. New mom, new adult, new person with my own future. I think my mom got lost in my past. I think I became such a mom that I forgot to be a daughter. Especially when I became a single mom trying to figure out how to teach my sons how to celebrate me, an awkward lesson for us all. I wanted them to grow up to be thoughtful men, thoughtful partners, thoughtful sons.
This is a lesson I’m just now realizing I forgot for myself. In all the prioritizing of raising kids, of being the center of my own universe, I forgot my mom for the past 25 years. I forgot that the mother-child relationship is for our entire lives. I forgot it’s not just a one-way street of her loving me and me talking at her. Because I’ve been telling myself that I talk to her all the time but really what I’m doing is talking at her. Unloading all of my grievances and worries over the phone to her while she soothes me and agrees with me and tries to make me feel better. I’m realizing now that I’ve still been expecting her to parent me, to be my mom first. I’ve treated her like the same mom she was to me in high school, making me breakfast on a Sunday while I sat at the table and complained about my life. I just haven’t been the same daughter to her at all.
And all of a sudden, I miss being a good daughter to her. I miss surprising her. I miss knowing the snacks that make her happy. I miss being on the path we once were on together, where we were building a friendship that would see us be adults together. We have some of that now, of course we do, but I think it’s time for me to keep up my end of that particular bargain.
This year for Mother’s Day, I’m going to be a good daughter again. I’m excited about it. I am going to spend time at my mom’s house in the spare room. I’m going to make her breakfast, eggs benedict like she likes but with only half an English muffin because she doesn’t like filling up on bread. I’m going to take her shopping and out for lunch at the mall, one of our favorite shared pastimes. We will get shirts and skincare products, try on shoes and eat Chinese food. I will drink wine on her front porch in the evening and I will not suggest watching a movie even though I just want to lie on the couch and watch a movie because this is not what she likes. She likes to sit together and talk. I’m going to make her some sort of a dessert with whipped cream and fruit but not chocolate. She does not like chocolate.
I’m going to make sure she feels seen. Because I finally have stopped looking in my own motherhood mirror long enough to see her. And I’m kind of excited about it.
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