 |
May
2004 |
 |
Motherhood:
Beauty, grace —
and temper tantrums |
| |
|
|
My life looks nothing like a Mother’s Day ad.
This time of year, the newspaper is brimming with glossy
pages from local department stores showcasing beautiful
mothers interacting quietly and peacefully with their
beautiful children. The ads are often muted photographs
with pastel backgrounds. Children and mothers frolic — hair
flowing, sundresses blowing — amid fields of flowers.
Immaculate children beam up at their mothers adoringly.
Mothers throw back their heads in ecstatic laughter at
the sheer joy of simply being in the presence of their
obviously gifted children. And the father (fit, tan and
back from his day at work as the president of a multinational
corporation) is always looking on happily, as he grills,
wearing a crisp sport shirt and khaki shorts.
I’m not sure what I expect out of these ads. Realism? A picture of my own
grape jelly-stained sons and me with bags under my eyes and a stringy ponytail?
After all, these advertisers are trying to sell a product, and do they really
want to remind people, on Mother’s Day, of all days, what mothering is
truly about?
It is no secret that motherhood suffers from romanticized images. From the time
we are little girls, we have been fed a notion of motherhood that is sweet and
serene and wrapped in a pink satin bow. No one mentioned to me before I became
a mother, that between my own lactating and newborn Jacob’s spit up, I
would likely smell like sour milk by the end of each day.
It’s not that I don’t believe motherhood is a beautiful thing. Motherhood
is filled with moments of beauty and grace. But mothers are beautiful in the
way marathon runners are beautiful. They are beautiful for their power and strength
and endurance.
A mother is beautiful because of the pain and effort you see etched on her face
when she is working her hardest. Indeed, you might not even see her during those
moments she’s working her hardest, because it’s very dark at 3 in
the morning, and no one is up except her and the feverish infant.
The images of perfect mothers and the pressed and starched children that we see
in ads may actually undermine the very motherhood they are trying to celebrate.
They show mothering at its easiest — when everyone is well-dressed and
having fun.
I have always felt the most important work of mothering is done when my children
are at their worst, rather than when they are at their best. It is easy to love
and guide children when they are smiling and sitting quietly. (Quick, take a
picture while you can!) It is much more difficult when they are tantruming or
rolling their eyes or pounding on a sibling. Yet, it is how a mother handles
these times that defines and shapes her child’s character.
When Liam, now 5, was 3, we went through a difficult time. Whenever something
didn’t go his way, he would scream. No cookies before dinner. Long scream.
Time to turn off the TV. Longer scream. And now let’s put on your pajamas.
Scream within a scream. That very loud period of parenting, which lasted about
three or four months, taught me you never know what you’re going to be
called upon to teach your child. Those months, we had to teach Liam not to scream.
We did it by carrying the screaming, writhing Liam to his room for a time-out
every time he screamed. Sometimes we had to hold the door shut. We were pretty
successful, though, and today Liam seldom screams.
Teaching children to go from horrible to acceptable is not exactly the most rewarding
type of teaching. Starting at acceptable and heading toward outstanding is a
lot more fun. It’s also rare. As a mom, often you’re simply teaching
someone how to be a civilized human being. You’re just trying to bring
them up to neutral. And if for some reason you think everyone else’s kids
are perfect — that other mothers don’t need to teach their children
which words aren’t allowed, or how to put their laundry in the hamper,
or not to scream incessantly — you could feel pretty bad about your own
situation. My friend Carol is currently trying to teach her toddler not to lick
all flat surfaces. Again, just up to neutral.
Our church sometimes adds to the myth of perfect mother, perfect child. Statues
and paintings of Mary — our ultimate role model — never show her
in the midst of dealing with toddler Jesus in a meltdown. Yet, Jesus, arguably
the best share-er of all time, once had to be taught to share himself. And Mary,
perhaps exasperated after an afternoon of watching little John the Baptist and
Jesus together while her cousin ran errands, was his likeliest teacher.
It can be tempting to pretend to be that perfect mom with the perfect kids in
the ad; to pretend to be that serene Mother Mary. With the right outfit and a
pasted-on smile, no one has to know that your 6-year-old lies and your 10-year-old
swears. But I believe when we look at a child struggling with a particular behavior,
we need to keep in mind that there are adults with that same problem (in Liam’s
case, I thought of temper-losing grown-ups). And if we can help our child move
beyond lying or cheating at 6 or 10 or 15, we have given that child a gift much
greater than we would have if we pretended everything was just fine.
Glossy ads and marble statues aside, this Mother’s Day, may we honor all
not-perfect mothers and our not-perfect children. May we honor the marathon which
is motherhood — often exhausting and frustrating, yet somehow exhilarating.
And when we see a struggling mother, may we offer her a sip of cool water and
a moment of rest. And remind her how far she’s come.
(Scobey-Polacheck and her husband, Bill, have two sons, Jacob and Liam. The
family belongs to SS. Peter and Paul Parish, Milwaukee, and St. Monica Parish,
Whitefish
Bay. Scobey-Polacheck welcomes dialog regarding her column. E-mail her at ascobey@hotmail.com>.) |
|
