Mothering

I never really knew how much my mother loved me, until I had children of my own.  My mother and I had a pretty good relationship growing up.  Sure, it had its ups and downs (downs during the awful teenage years) but for the most part my mother and I were good.  Different, but good.  I think back now to all the sacrifices she made to and while she raised my sister and I.  Sewing the Brownie badges, organizing the car pools, staying up with us while we were sick, making special snacks for school parties - my mom did it all.  I didn't see it then - I think I just assumed "this is her job, she's the mom".  All her efforts really went unappreciated.  I always said "thank you" but looking back it doesn't seem like those two words were enough.  Now that I'm a mom of two very active little boys, and see the work, time, patience, organization and money it requires - I have a new appreciation for her.  I asked her once, when I was in my 20's if she could go back and do anything different - would she.  She just smiled and said "I wouldn't change a thing" but after much prying - admitted she would have liked to have gone to college and worked with animals.  Often times, women give up or at least set-aside their own dreams to raise children.  Until my sister and I were about  8 and 10, my mom stayed home with us.  Once we were old enough to get on the bus, and hang out for an hour or so after school - my mom rejoined the working class. Got a job at bottle-making factory - a job she hated but kept for exactly one year.  She worked the nightshift and had to drop my sister and me off at my nana's so we could catch the bus early the next day.  Those were tough days, and we missed our mother (and our own beds).  The following year she took a job at an electronics factory and has been there ever since. Day after day. I'm sure wondering at times what her life would have been like - if she worked at an animal clinic, doing something she loved. Some of my best memories I have of my mother were not about things she did FOR me, but with me.  Like the time she took a train (too afraid to fly) down to Atlanta, Georgia to help me move into my college apartment after she found out the "friend" helping me move bailed out on me in South Carolina. Or the time she rushed to my side when I was in labor with my first son Cooper.  She stayed with me all night, running her fingers through my hair, telling me stories about giving birth to me while I sat soaking in a jet tub - filled with fear and excitement to meet my first child.  These are the moments I think about when I think about my mother.  I can only hope one day, my sons will understand my complete and unwaivering love I have for them.  My wish in life is for them to be happy - which is what my own mother has always wanted for me.