Life and Laughter

PeriKinder

Thankful to have been ‘just a mom’

THURSDAY, MAY 7, 2015Mother’s DaySpecial Section

For years I was just a mom. When

people asked what I did for a living, I’d respond, “I’m just a stay-at-home mom.” Ironically, I was never home. I was shuttling kids to and from softball, swimming, dance, school and the mall. I spent approximately 20 years liv-ing in my van – and I wasn’t even homeless.

Being a full-time mom is exhausting. People who’ve never spent 24 hours with small children have no idea how listening to the opening notes of “Sesame Street” for the billionth time can make your ear drums bleed.

I’d wake up early to enjoy some alone time and hear the shuffling of pajama-footed feet as a toddler waddled into the kitchen and onto my lap where she rested against my chest, smelling like baby shampoo, warm blankets and dreams. I’d put my nose in her hair, inhale that scent and think: remember this.

I’d snuggle with my daughters on the couch with piles of library books. We’d read about hungry caterpillars, wicked witches, Sneetches, wild things and little blue engines. I’d share

stories about being kind, wise and brave, and I’d pray those messages would stick.

A favorite activity was making cinnamon rolls, let-ting the girls bake their own sugar-covered creations. They would be coated with flour, butter and cinnamon, and the same ingredients blanketed the floor, but it was OK. It was cleanable. Memories lasted longer than spilled milk.

Depending on the day, my girls were princesses, gypsies, cheerleaders or demons. They’d walk down the sidewalk with pink, plastic high-heeled shoes slap-ping the soles of their feet, or wear queen costumes while racing on Big Wheels, catching the fabric under the wheels until all their dresses had shredded hems.

There were thousands of homework assignments, reading logs and math quizzes. Hundreds of times hearing “My teacher hates me” or “I don’t get it. Ex-plain it again.”

At night, there were bedtime stories, bedtime songs and bedtime prayers; all the rituals kids need to keep their moms around a few more moments; delaying sleep just a little bit longer.

But sleep was never a reprieve. I’d often go

from coma-level slumber to caffeine-addict wide awake in five seconds or less, wakened by a cry, and sometimes the undeniably disgusting sound of vomit hitting the sheets or carpet.

And the next day I’d do it all again.I was so jealous of my neighbor. She’d go to work

each morning dressed in a classy skirt and blazer, looking important and doing important things. She was able to talk to grown-ups all day, and probably didn’t have to tell any co-worker to stop wiping their boogers on the couch.

She didn’t go to bed scraping Play-Doh out of her hair. She didn’t watch Cinderella all day or have to be the Ken doll all the time. I schlepped around the house 24/7 in stained yoga paints and T-shirts, lis-tening to poop jokes and kids telling on each other.

Because the grass is always greener, maybe she wished she could be a slacker like me, eating cold fish sticks and playing Chutes and Ladders for hours at a time.

We were far from rich, but we were also far from poor. It was a time when Band-Aids and kisses healed skinned knees, and chocolate chip cookies and hugs mended broken hearts. And even though it was an emotionally, mentally and physically exhausting time, I’m so grateful for my daughters’

childhoods. I’m so thankful I was able to play and laugh and love. Even

though I was just a mom.

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It’s the most unselfish thing you’ll ever do.You don’t realize it at

first.It’s just the next step, to

choose to give someone else life.

It comes naturally with grow-ing up and getting educated and growing in love and getting married. Starting a family just seems like the next, right, natural thing to do.

It becomes obvious right away that it’s no longer possi-ble to do everything you could do before. Whether it was eating whatever you want or not eating whenever you want, or sleeping as comfortably or as soundly as you once did, the rules change right away.

And they keep changing.And I won’t detail how much

they change or it could be a deterrent. I will only say they change and somehow you only rarely seem to mind.

It’s what motherhood does to you.

Whether you’re getting up for a midnight feeding or, 16 years later, being awakened for the report on a date or, 15 years later, sleeping on a couch so you can help with a new grandbaby, it’s just something you do.

Because you’ve given your

physical and your emotional well-being over to someone else. Someone that you love madly even before you meet him or her.

Now there’s more than just you to worry about.

Being unselfish comes with those first kicks and magnifies with those first cries. Being unselfish comes when you don’t just head out to a movie on a whim because there’s someone you can’t take with your or leave behind and it’s so hard to trust your child to absolutely anyone else. Being unselfish comes when time revolves around someone else’s needs and every ounce of energy is directed to meeting them, to teaching, directing, leading, hoping that it all will somehow smooth the path ahead.

All of the sudden, there is someone else to worry about, to make life better for.

Someone to cry with when a heart’s been broken.

Someone to smile with over life’s big and little successes.

There is nothing more beauti-ful than unselfish sacrifice and it comes up in places large and small.

You see it when a younger passenger helps lift the suitcase of an older one on a plane. Or

gives up a seat on the subway. And it warms your heart.

You see unselfish sacrifice when young missionaries give up a year and a half or two of their young lives to go into the wide world and spread a mes-sage that has made their lives meaningful. You see it in the hugs and tears of the mothers that welcome them home after so long apart.

LOUISE R. SHAW

In ThIs TogeTher

A trait that comes with loving

n see “TrAIT” p. 3

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The young mothers I talked to this week didn’t know they were sacrific-ing.

They love motherhood, they said, because: “It’s the hardest thing but yet the most fulfilling,” and, “It gives my life mean-ing.”

They love their moth-ers, they said, because: “She is the most inspiring and kind person I’ve ever met,” “She’s an amazing help. She has six kids and makes sure she gives time to all of us, even as adults.”

Being unselfish comes with motherhood. It grows with motherhood.

Most mothers don’t even know they are such masters at it.

Now would be a good time to tell them.

And thank them.

Continued from p. 2

Trait

MOTH

ER’S

DAY

QU

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“For me, there’s no one who’s had as much influence on my life as my mom. She’s been my constant.”

Holly HoytClearfield

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Matthew KellerNorth Salt Lake

n See “QUIPS” p. 5

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I started writing for the Clipper – during my first time here – in

1985. That was the year that I lost my mother to cancer. She was only 59. Ironically, the first story of mine published back then was about her. Now, 30 years later, I have the pleasure and honor of writing about her once again.

She raised me for most of my childhood years as a single parent, working full time as a switchboard operator, when that position existed, for about $85 a week take home pay. She drove us everywhere in a baby blue ’54 Ford, finding ways to keep food on our table, a roof over our heads, and balancing

her work life with our home life.

Like any child, I had no idea how hard that was, or still is, for mothers. Though my grandparents lived close by us in the San Francisco Bay Area, it was Mom who had to do all the household and motherhood chores. I took for granted the hours she spent, after her work day ended, cooking and clean-ing and doing wash and help-ing me with homework. I guess I assumed it was just “part of the job” as a mother. We had our spats, like all children do with parents, but she never, ever made me feel like I was

anything less than her number one priority.

When I was in high school, Mom always wondered if I was envious of some of my friends. I lived in an interesting part of the school district where I was bussed over 12 miles a day to an affluent high school, even though we as a family were not. During those years before I could drive myself, Mom often dropped me off at friends’ homes that seemed like mini-mansions compared to the rela-tively simple home we lived in. I could tell sometimes she felt a bit sad or embarrassed that we didn’t have that lifestyle, but I honestly didn’t care – because at the end of every day, I had something more important than a lavish bedroom or a hot tub or a swimming pool. I had her as my mother.

Eventually, I left home for college, and it was the first time

in nearly two decades that I hadn’t been part of her daily life. There were the trips home for the holidays and summer of course, but from the moment I packed my little Toyota and drove out of Redwood City, I was headed out on my own. It made her sad.

I moved to Utah years later and never lived in California again. When she was first diagnosed, I spent some time staying with her and my step-father while I had a temporary job there. Though she was ill from the cancer treatments, those days gave us a chance to reminisce. She told me how much she loved being a Mom, being MY Mom. I told her how lucky I was to be her son. A few months later, she was gone.

I reflect back on those years when I’d hear her voice on the phone, or get those “Care” packages in the mail with

homemade cookies or other special surprises she’d made for me. I try to remember if I did anything particularly spe-cial for her on Mother’s Day, or for her birthday (she was born on St. Patrick’s Day in Pasa-dena). My children have fond memories of Grandma, though they were quite young when she passed, but they’ve learned about her through me. I hope that she somehow knows now how much I appreciate all she did for me, and how much I love and miss her.

If you have a chance to tell your Mom how much she means to you this weekend, please do. I’ve been blessed to be able to write my feelings with a chance for publication, but I’d give anything to be able to tell her these things in person. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.

Tom’s Tomes

TOM HaraldsenManaging Editor

Remembering how much my mom means to me

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I’m a fully grown adult, and my mom can still get me to do anything.

OK, that’s not quite true – not even Mom can get me to make my bed. Anything else, though, and she knows she has me. Go down and back up three sets of stairs to get something for her out of the car? Done. Attend some formal event slightly less exciting than watching paint dry? No problem. If she needs me, I’ll be there.

It’s a trick other people in my life desperately wish they could discover the secret to. I’m what’s politely referred to as “stubborn” (but more often phrased too colorfully to be mentioned in a family newspa-per). My ability and willingness to argue is well-known enough at work to be an office in-joke, and I refuse to be guilted into anything. If I don’t see a good reason to do something, I won’t do it.

So when people need me to do something they don’t think

I'll agree to, they ask my mom to ask me to do it. Mind you, they usually haven’t even made an attempt to ask me – they go straight to my mom, as if she was my agent.

Of course, that doesn’t neces-sarily mean she’ll agree, either. She’s aware of the power she has over me, and is careful to use it only when absolutely necessary. With great power comes great responsibility, just like Spider-Man said, and even though I’m far less scary than the Green Goblin she takes that responsibility very seriously.

The one thing I don’t think she understands, though, is why she has that power. She thinks it’s something she can lose, that if she screws up

somehow I’ll suddenly decide she’s no longer worth listening to.

She doesn’t realize that, when I was younger, I was the kid nobody wanted. I was too loud, too awkward, too opinionated, and not nearly good, sweet or cute enough. No one ever came right out and said it, but I could tell from the looks on their faces how much of a disappoint-ment I was.

My mom, though, always looked at me like I was amaz-ing. Yes, she pointed out that it wasn’t polite to shout in church, but when we got home she let me talk as loudly as I wanted. She listened avidly to all of the things I was excited about, al-ways encouraging me to pursue my passions without worrying about whether it was some-thing I “should” be interested in. She taught me that unique was not the same as wrong. She thought that I was beautiful, even when I didn’t believe it myself.

My mom is the reason I am

who I am today. Her love and support are what made me brave, and every success I’ve achieved in life is entirely to her credit.

(My mom routinely argues this point, giving me a look that says “You’re insane but I love you anyway.” She swears it was all me, and says she was lucky to have such a wonderful, talented daughter.)

So when she needs me to

hand-draw a pattern for an art project for her class, or write the text of a letter to help her class get donations, it’s small potatoes compared to every-thing she’s done for me. I’d lasso the moon for her, if I could, so when she asks me to do something less than that I don’t even blink.

Except, of course, when it comes to making my bed. A girl’s got to draw the line somewhere.

JENNIFFERWARDELLMovie critic, member of the Utah Film Critics Association

With motherhood comes great power, even greater responsibility

SHE MAY not be able to swing from skyscrapers like Spider-Man, but my mom has the power to get me to do pretty much anything.

© 2012 - Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc.

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Yes, it’s a great time for the family to come together to celebrate the most fantastic mother in the world. You! However, with all the commotion and the noise, it seems to be easier to stay in the kitchen to get everything ready, and to avoid the hard work of understanding those around you. You grow tired of asking friends and loved ones to repeat themselves. And when you do, they remind you that you really need to do something about your hearing! For years they have suspected you are not hearing as well as you once did. Remember this! Getting through any day, and especially Mother’s Day, with a hearing chal-lenge can be hard work. Everyday situations require more effort in order to follow and under-stand what is being said. It can be exhausting. Conversations and situations most people take for granted are diffi cult and frustrating to someone with a hearing loss. What should you do? Make the tough decision! The time has come! The time is NOW! Why wait until next Mother’s Day? Don’t miss out on another family gathering with all of the fun and joy that goes along with it. You want to hear those grandkids tell you how much they love you and how much you mean to them. You want to hear your husband whisper in your ear, “Thank you for being the mother of our children. You’re the greatest!” Finding a hearing solution that helps you reconnect with family, friends, and loved ones really is the key to enjoying a more fulfi lling and active lifestyle. Have your hearing checked by an audi-ologist and see what a difference better hearing can make. I know I’m grateful that my mother-in-law will be wearing her hearing devices this Mother’s Day to better communicate with us and enjoy her family.

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