A Hug For Mother’s Day

I was dropping off Emmy in the three year old room for MOPS when one of the mentor moms came up to me. “Oh,” she said as she enveloped me in a big mama bear hug, “I’ve been thinking about you this week!”

It was the week before Mother’s Day, and she had seen some Mother’s Day cards. Looking at them, she thought about how she hasn’t needed to buy a Mother’s Day card for several years now, and it still was hard. She thought about me losing my mom just a year and a half ago.

Oh, how I needed that hug! I needed that hug more than I even knew.

That Friday, Lily woke up with a fever. As the morning wore on, her temperature slowly went higher even after I gave her some Tylenol. She lay limply on the couch, not wanting to move. She wasn’t eating or drinking much. As I carried her from the TV room to the living room she told me she didn’t feel well, and then promptly threw up. It was barely anything to clean up since her stomach was empty, but I put a big bowl by her place on the couch and called the doctor.

Both Lily and her sister had had strep throat twice in April, so her doctor and I were relieved when the strep test was negative. I was to treat her symptoms at home and call if she got worse.

Saturday, Lily continued to have a fever and curled up in her favorite chair. Unused to seeing our vibrant child so inactive, Ed decided to entertain her. He danced and sang around the room, making us all laugh, even Lily. And then…he stepped back, landed on one foot right on the throw-up bowl (empty of contents) and fell hard. His ankle swelled instantly.

Fortunately, Ed’s sister happened to call a few minutes later, and I asked her to take Ed to the immediate care center by us. In one short hour he was home, no broken bones but a bad sprain.

We decided to cancel Mother’s Day.

Okay, that’s not really true. We just canceled the reservations at the fancy brunch we had planned on going to. I still took Emmy to church and sang in the choir that morning, ordering Lily (still feverish) and Ed to rest. The youth group gave all mothers a beautiful rose, and by the time Emmy and I got home, Lily was feeling better. So we went off for a low-key Mother’s Day lunch at Steak ‘n Shake.

That quick lunch wore out Lily, and her fever came back that afternoon. She rested, and I cried. I worried about Ed’s ankle, which kept him off his feet for most of the day. I wanted to call my mom.

But she is gone.

Instead, I got a phone call from my sister, who was also missing Mom.

By the end of the day, I was just grateful for all my blessings. Lily was feeling better (I kept her home from school for one more day; her fever went away and she is back to normal) and Ed’s ankle was not broken.

My thoughts went to the mentor mom who gave me a hug, who was also missing her mom on this day. I was grateful for that simple hug; grateful that someone else remembered that Mother’s Day would be difficult.

Simple BPM
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Learning to Let Lily Fail

I do not like letting Lily fail. And I was certain that she was going to fail when she wanted to bowl without the bumpers yesterday. I was positive that every single ball would be a gutter ball. But she insisted. That was the way she wanted to bowl.

When it was her turn, Lily toted her ball up the lane, placed in on the floor between her feet, and gave the ball a great HEAVE with both hands. Without even seeing if her ball would knock down any pins, she turned around and walked toward us, grinning.

Gutter ball.

Zero points.

On her second try, she heaved her bowling ball down the lane again.

Huge grin.

Gutter ball.

Zero points.

I realized that Lily has a different sense of failure than I do.

I’m a terrible bowler. We were bowling with my sister-in-law and brother-in-law, who are on a bowling league. Ed bowled a turkey in his first game: three strikes in a row. I can barely make it up to 70 points when bowling.

I’m a fairly competitive person. When I do something, I like to do it well. I may not be the best, or the winner, but I like to be pretty good at the things I attempt. I consider myself to be a failure at bowling.

But Lily has different guidelines about failing.

She was thrilled to be bowling. She was thrilled to be bowling with Mom and Dad and Sister, her aunt and uncle, without the bumpers. It didn’t matter to her that she wasn’t knocking any pins down.

She stepped up to the lane again.

Gutter ball, zero pins down.

On her second try, the ball stayed on the lane.

It didn’t go into the gutter.

Instead, her ball knocked down seven pins! We all jumped up and down, clapping our hands and cheering for Lily.

As we continued to play, Lily’s ball went into the gutter sometimes, but she also managed to knock down some more pins.

Even if she hadn’t knocked down any more pins, I think she would have been happy.

And she wouldn’t have failed. Just giving herself that challenge of bowling without the bumpers made her successful.

Once again, I learned an important lesson from my daughter. That’s part of the joy of motherhood.

It was too dark to take pictures in the bowling alley, so here is one of her playing in the snow.

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