Secret Life of a Mom
A Letter to My Children:
I have a confession: Your mother has a secret life.
And, so does every other mother on the planet. There was the mom that you saw. Then there was me - who was (and still is) essentially, just a girl in adult-sized skin trying to navigate the waters of motherhood as best as she could.
You saw a mom who insisted on following rules; who gave consequences if you disobeyed. You didn't know that I second-guessed myself a lot - it was a constant battle to decide if the consequences were fair, and consistent, or if I was just being ridiculously stringent. [Or worse: if I was being totally erratic.]
You saw a mom who took life very seriously. You didn't know that I felt a huge responsibility for bringing you up right. You didn't know the nights I cried myself to sleep; the weight of raising you to be a decent, loving, respectful, law-abiding citizen, heavy upon my heart.
You saw a mom who insisted that you obey authority and respect your elders.
You didn't know that I went to bat for you with those same elders when I could see that they didn't offer you that same regard. I believe that adults don't have the right to belittle children, or to use children to make themselves feel superior. You didn't see letters I wrote, the phone calls I made, or face-to-face conversations I had with those who were in authority, advocating for you, and making them accountable for the way they treated you.
You saw a mom who dropped you off at youth events with a 'have a good evening'.
You didn't know that I wanted to protect you from any harm that might come to you. You didn't know that I called the Youth Pastor and did a background check on the youth sponsors, or that I circled back after dropping you off to peek in the window and see if you were doing ok in the testosterone/estrogen- driven crowd of adolescents.
You saw a mom who brought you to the babysitter while she went to work. You didn't know all the hours I spent configuring and reconfiguring our limited funds to try and find ways to let you do the things that you wanted to do - soccer, art classes, birthday parties, class trips, gifts, and more. You didn't see my struggle to keep a professional stance, when there were issues at home that demanded my attention. You didn't know that when I got job offers, my first thought was about how it would affect you if I accepted.
You saw a mom who taught you to make friends.
You didn't see me deliberately reaching out to other moms with children for play dates so you could learn social skills. You didn't see me fuming privately when I knew your friends were dissing you, or ditching you for other kids in the class. You didn't know that I muttered nasty things under my breath about those kids - and how hard it was for me not to step in, when I knew it was your battle and not my own.
You saw a mom who accepted your mother's day cards and gifts from garage sales.
You didn't know that I stowed those cards away in special spots so that when I ran across them, I could take them out again. You didn't see me let a tear roll down my cheek, while I remembered the thoughtfulness that inspired you to make them. You didn't know that I still keep the little gifts that didn't cost very much money in visible spots so I can be 'in touch' with you throughout my days at home.
You saw a mom who waltzed into the Emergency Room declaring "What Have You Done Now?"
You didn't know how my heart sank when I got the phone call(s) summoning me to the hospital because you had been in an accident. You didn't hear my whispered prayer to God for mercy and grace to help me through whatever I was about to face. You didn't see how relieved I was to find you upright and moving around, instead of paralyzed on a stretcher.
You saw a mom who insisted that being on the team was your main job; that you were not to fuss about how much play time you had.
You didn't know that I kept track of the other kids' play time on the field/court and that I was silently sending messages to the coach to send my kid out there because that other kid didn't know what they were doing and they were losing the game for the team.
You saw a mom who checked up on you and the status of your homework, and made you stay up late to finish them if they weren't complete.
You didn't know that I sometimes went to the teachers and asked them to lay off on the assignments because I could see that you were getting tired and couldn't cope with any more demands on you. You didn't know that I stayed up late with you, because I knew you were tired and thought that being with you might give you the energy you needed to see it through,
I didn't realized that my mom had a secret life, until I became one myself. And even though I have shone a light on these secrets, I doubt that you will understand the secret life of a mom, until you have children of your own. But there is one thing that I cannot conceal. I love you. I love you more than you will ever know. Each one of you is precious to me, and I thank God that He chose me to be your mom.
I have a confession: Your mother has a secret life.
And, so does every other mother on the planet. There was the mom that you saw. Then there was me - who was (and still is) essentially, just a girl in adult-sized skin trying to navigate the waters of motherhood as best as she could.
You saw a mom who insisted on following rules; who gave consequences if you disobeyed. You didn't know that I second-guessed myself a lot - it was a constant battle to decide if the consequences were fair, and consistent, or if I was just being ridiculously stringent. [Or worse: if I was being totally erratic.]
You saw a mom who took life very seriously. You didn't know that I felt a huge responsibility for bringing you up right. You didn't know the nights I cried myself to sleep; the weight of raising you to be a decent, loving, respectful, law-abiding citizen, heavy upon my heart.
You saw a mom who insisted that you obey authority and respect your elders.
You didn't know that I went to bat for you with those same elders when I could see that they didn't offer you that same regard. I believe that adults don't have the right to belittle children, or to use children to make themselves feel superior. You didn't see letters I wrote, the phone calls I made, or face-to-face conversations I had with those who were in authority, advocating for you, and making them accountable for the way they treated you.
You saw a mom who dropped you off at youth events with a 'have a good evening'.
You didn't know that I wanted to protect you from any harm that might come to you. You didn't know that I called the Youth Pastor and did a background check on the youth sponsors, or that I circled back after dropping you off to peek in the window and see if you were doing ok in the testosterone/estrogen- driven crowd of adolescents.
You saw a mom who brought you to the babysitter while she went to work. You didn't know all the hours I spent configuring and reconfiguring our limited funds to try and find ways to let you do the things that you wanted to do - soccer, art classes, birthday parties, class trips, gifts, and more. You didn't see my struggle to keep a professional stance, when there were issues at home that demanded my attention. You didn't know that when I got job offers, my first thought was about how it would affect you if I accepted.
You saw a mom who taught you to make friends.
You didn't see me deliberately reaching out to other moms with children for play dates so you could learn social skills. You didn't see me fuming privately when I knew your friends were dissing you, or ditching you for other kids in the class. You didn't know that I muttered nasty things under my breath about those kids - and how hard it was for me not to step in, when I knew it was your battle and not my own.
You saw a mom who accepted your mother's day cards and gifts from garage sales.
You didn't know that I stowed those cards away in special spots so that when I ran across them, I could take them out again. You didn't see me let a tear roll down my cheek, while I remembered the thoughtfulness that inspired you to make them. You didn't know that I still keep the little gifts that didn't cost very much money in visible spots so I can be 'in touch' with you throughout my days at home.
You saw a mom who waltzed into the Emergency Room declaring "What Have You Done Now?"
You didn't know how my heart sank when I got the phone call(s) summoning me to the hospital because you had been in an accident. You didn't hear my whispered prayer to God for mercy and grace to help me through whatever I was about to face. You didn't see how relieved I was to find you upright and moving around, instead of paralyzed on a stretcher.
You saw a mom who insisted that being on the team was your main job; that you were not to fuss about how much play time you had.
You didn't know that I kept track of the other kids' play time on the field/court and that I was silently sending messages to the coach to send my kid out there because that other kid didn't know what they were doing and they were losing the game for the team.
You saw a mom who checked up on you and the status of your homework, and made you stay up late to finish them if they weren't complete.
You didn't know that I sometimes went to the teachers and asked them to lay off on the assignments because I could see that you were getting tired and couldn't cope with any more demands on you. You didn't know that I stayed up late with you, because I knew you were tired and thought that being with you might give you the energy you needed to see it through,
I didn't realized that my mom had a secret life, until I became one myself. And even though I have shone a light on these secrets, I doubt that you will understand the secret life of a mom, until you have children of your own. But there is one thing that I cannot conceal. I love you. I love you more than you will ever know. Each one of you is precious to me, and I thank God that He chose me to be your mom.
Comments
You are inspirational, not just one part inspirationsl, but bazillions of parts inspirational.
Both for how and what you think, and for how and what you are willing to write about.
Thank you so very very much.