By: Lora Wimsatt
As the daughter of the best mother in the world, I had always harbored a little bit of guilt when Mother’s Day rolled around.
I compared myself to my own mother, and came up woefully short, and certainly undeserving of the praise and tributes my children heaped on me on that special day.
Hadn’t my children noticed that the three little words I said most often were not “I love you,” but “Clean your room!”?
Didn’t they remember how many times they had tugged at my sleeve to tell me “something ’portant” and I brushed them away with a “not now, later, I’m busy”?
Had they forgotten about all the times I had taken the easy way out and popped a tape into the VCR instead of cuddling up with them on the couch to read a bedtime story?
And yet, on that second Sunday in May every year, my four children paraded in with cards, flowers, gifts and hugs, and after they got old enough, they took me out to eat and picked up the check.
Looking back at my own Mom through the wistful mists of nostalgia, I remember her as gentle, patient and kind – the perfect mother, the best mother in the world.
But I don’t see how my kids could remember me as anything but harried, hassled and frazzled. Not perfect.
Certainly not the best mother in the world.
Then, two years ago, everything changed.
My daughter and my daughter-in-law both brought new babies into the family – two little girls.
I was secretly relieved that the attention was now focused elsewhere on Mother’s Day. Oh, my kids still remembered me – the cards and boxes of candy show up faithfully just the same – but now it’s Beth and Danielle in the spotlight as I willingly step aside into the shadows.
As I stand on the sidelines, however, I’ve seen the most amazing thing unfold.
I’ve watched as Beth and Danielle have flowed smoothly from their roles as daughter and daughter-in-law to that of mommies.
I watch them juggle responsibilities and all the people and things clamoring for their time and attention – keeping the laundry done, getting supper on the table, paying bills, getting the car to the shop, going to their best friend’s wedding, taking the dog for his shots, spending time with family, getting everyone up and dressed and off to church on time, indulging their husbands’ sports addictions, working every day …
And yet, even while doing all this and much, much more –
My granddaughters can sing their A-B-C’s … they say “please” and “thank you” … they always have a cute bow in their hair … they know the cow says “moo” and the sheep says “baa” … they shriek with laughter as they splash in the pool or zip down the slide or peddle their little go-cars.
I look on as Briley flings her arms around Beth’s neck or as Lyla snuggles in Danielle’s lap.
Maybe Beth doesn’t think so as the sink fills with dirty dishes, or as she hands her daughter a doughnut instead of a cup of yogurt.
Maybe Danielle doesn’t think so as weeds threaten to take over the back yard, or as her daughter falls down and scrapes her knee.
But I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that one of these days, both Briley and Lyla will look back and realize that each one of them had the best mommy in the whole wide world.
Beth and Danielle may not be perfect. I sure wasn’t perfect. And I guess maybe my Mom wasn’t really perfect either.
But we all really are the best mommies in the world – because we love our children.