Happy Mother’s Day to all mothers out there.
It always makes me smile when I think back to past Mother’s Days, when our four children would wake me up by jumping on our bed screaming at the crack of dawn — or earlier.
There was usually some sort of a breakfast in bed, cooked by Paul with all four children “helping” him.
I loved spending that day with my mom. We often went shopping, “junking” and then out to lunch.
I was thinking about some memories I have of my mother and one stood out.
I was about 6 or 7 years old and had just gotten new bedding in my room. It was sort of a big deal since it was a bit of a “grown-up” pattern and not too “little girlish” like my previous bedding.
At the time I was very into learning calligraphy, using that little bottle of India ink and various pens.
My mother reminded me for the thousandth time to be careful when using that ink and to only do calligraphy when I was sitting at my desk or at the kitchen table.
My new bedding was just too tempting. So I put the ink on a book and then carefully sat on my stomach on the bed to practice making letters.
Everyone probably knows where this is going.
Not surprisingly, I knocked the bottle of ink over and it spilled on my beautiful, brand new comforter. It left a big black ink blot right in the middle of my bed.
I was so upset. I cried as I tried to rub the ink off with a wet washcloth, staining that as well. I remember feeling so sad and remorseful as I went to tell my mother, crying the entire time.
I could hardly get out what had happened. She was probably relieved when I did get my confession out that it wasn’t something worse.
I will never forget her reaction. She hugged me and told me she loved me a whole lot more than that comforter.
Isn’t it funny the things we remember and how they can impact our lives?
How many times while raising our children have I harkened back to that scene and tried to emulate that sort of patience, understanding and forgiveness.
Of course, I failed more times than I succeeded, but it was a great memory to cling to, especially considering how often children can try our patience.
When our dining room table had been in place for just a few hours, I found our youngest, who was probably 3 at the time, playing race track on it with his matchbox cars.
Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t lovingly hug him and say that was OK. But I also didn’t scream at him.
I still see some scratches from his cars on that table, but they just make me smile and think of that cute little boy playing with his beloved cars.
Likewise, when I work in my garden and I see the spray paint graffiti on our fence, I think back to when I busted those responsible as they were holding the spray paint cans and denying responsibility.
I told Paul he can’t cover up that graffiti because it reminds me of those crazy days when it seemed I would never have time to actually have a garden, much less work in it.
I am thankful to my mom. She wasn’t perfect either, but instilled some values and parenting strengths that have served me well over the years.
Please remember to call mom today or visit her if possible. Share some memories. I promise she will be so happy.
Adlen Robinson is author of “Home Matters: The Guide to Organizing Your Life and Home.” E-mail her at firstname.lastname@example.org.