The Day After Mother's Day

Hello My Dears! Happy Day After Mother’s Day!

My day started with all four of my kids hugging and loving on me. They always wake up early on special days, filled with love and expectation, rewards of my generous parenting, reminders that I’m okay. They never need a second to process the calendar, they are instantly “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!” Michael made us a beautiful breakfast which felt abundant, indulgent in this period of stressful food-getting—smoked salmon, capers, rustic bread, fresh fruit, nice coffee purchased on repeat from Dublin Roasters, our local place. My mom called and filled me with decades of gratitude. Rafa and Carmelo clamored around my cake project, wanting to help with every little movement. As that happened, my mama friends texted into touch.

One of them had a lousy morning as her kids were being little shits. I felt sad for her but I was still holding onto my happy. But you know how it goes, inside of any happy, the edges become a little constraining, the expectations too tricky to meet. The kids became bickery over who got to stir what and if things were all fair. The sweet feelings I held around my-babies-are-wanting-to-be-close-to-me turned into these-people-are-using-me-to-get-sugar. Doting turned into general assholeness. We went to a lesser-known trailhead, hoping for nice new terrain, filled with the potential that endorphins and nature can bring. But the litany of complaints from all factions of the family finally broke me. Michael suggested we all just sit on a rock and meditate for a few minutes but the effort came a little late. Also, angry meditation feels wrong-spirited. Carmelo couldn’t stop talking anyway and I gave up, then we all gave up. We got in the car and it was already so late, the roasted chicken plans would mean that we wouldn’t get the kids to bed until 11:30, again, and I wouldn’t be able to read my book or watch a mindless show. Michael put my picture on Facebook early in the hike when we still held out hope and the whole world continued to tell me I was good (thank you ♥) but I wasn’t so sure. I went to put my chickens away as dark fell and one was missing. Dead. The care-taking wasn’t going well. I went to bed irritable and sad.

These days, I often go to bed irritable and sad. I don’t think I’m alone. We’re either working insecurely, care-taking exhaustively, or ruminating lonely. I’m best in the mornings when things are fresh, the day is new, the sunshine is soft. But with this virus, the morning comes and I often feel a new layer of sad. The rest of the world breathes in through the windows and I can feel the weight of suffering on my species. We’re kind of the mothers of this planet, maybe. We’re working pretty hard, trying to absorb all the new information of our century, taking in the internet prescriptions of connection, success, mindfulness, love, positivity, strength, beauty. In our focus for betterment, we’ve let some things go, culpably and innocently. The little creatures under our care are slipping away, chicken by chicken, species by species. The house is burning down. Standing somewhat apart from it, now, we’re sick.

On this day after Mother’s Day, the world feels particularly heavy. The bickering of my people is part shallow, part so, so deep. They are missing their connections, they are afraid of dying, they are afraid that I might die, their grandparents, their teachers. They are afraid that they won’t love enough in the right way. They are worried they aren’t doing enough to fix this thing. They are afraid they aren’t capable. They are ashamed.

But this afternoon, they figured out where mushrooms live, they posted things bravely, they tried again. I did too. I hope that tonight, we will get them to bed a little bit earlier. And I think that tomorrow, I will wake up with some more hope. Be patient and loving with yourselves. We have work to do. I know that we can do it together. You are good.