Happy Mother's Day

May 9, 2010 marked the 22nd Mother’s Day for me. It was uneventful as the rest of the past Mother’s Days: no breakfast in bed, gifts or dining out. Both sons were home, but neither one offered any tokens of appreciation, which has become an unspoken expectation since they passed their young days. The father of the sons, however, surprised me with a bouquet of roses. The card reads: best mom (& wife – though it isn’t “wife day”) EVER. Mouthful yet precise, his usual to-the-point way. The kind compliment brought some smile on my face, although I couldn’t help wondering about its validity then and there. Never a gracious receiver, I did, however, return this thoughtful gesture with a polite but warm “thank you”.

The rest of the day was spent no more than any usual Sunday except that I actually remembered to call home and talk to my mother for well over an hour and half. Since my working career launched exactly 2 years ago, I have not been faithful with my phones calls as a good daughter should do. For dinner, I made a semi-elaborate meal with a roast, vegetable and potato -- another rare thing these days for a busy mom with a full time job. After dinner, the dutiful mother watched 2 episodes of “Breaking Bad” with son and husband, earning her “best mom/wife ever” title before the day ended.

4 whole days have passed and my trophy is still standing proud and tall in the vase with her dazzling crimson red, spelling out loud to me the title of “best mom”. In the 22 years of service, I have indeed received several similar compliments such as this and yet I continue to feel unconvinced and even uncomfortable with them. If anything, I am at times as perplexed with “motherhood” as the first day when I held my first born in my arms. On paper, I am the stereo type of straight A student: responsible, motivated, puts in her 24/7, sits through recitals and swim meets and monitors and tutors school, but the true test comes in the question what I would do given the 2nd chance of redoing this assignment. The answer is: I wouldn’t do what I did or be who I was.

What then would I not do if I were to do it all over again? I would first of all not do all the extra curriculum activities just because everyone else is doing it. I would be less consumed with their development and instead more focused with mine and that with my husband. Last but least of all, I would not spend all those years wishing time away when I should savor every single moment as if it were the last minute of being a mother.

Bottom line: I got everything backwards. Motherhood is not about raising children. It is about her discovery of humility and her own growth. The longer it is, the more I realize the object, my children, is actually the subject of the whole process. They are the teachers and role models. It is they that taught me to trust without fear, to forgive and forget, and to love unconditionally. Most of all, they show me the oxymoron of life in that less is more, curse is blessing, and brokenness is whole -- if I were careful to see it. For the longest time, my eyes were so blurred from my own ambition and agenda that I missed all the heaven hidden behind my children’s labels and wasted all the time in grief instead of joy.

Yes, if ever I were to be called “the best mom”, it would be in that I would finally come to my senses. Laying aside past regret, I am indeed older and wiser to stop my vain endeavor to be the perfect mom. I am learning to experience perfection through the hug I receive everyday when I walk in from a day of frustration and evil. Even in the midst of his desolation and tears, I see the other son’s innocence and, yes, perfection too. They have come into my life never meant to be changed but to change me.