My eldest daughter was teasing me. I was complaining that while my middle child, my other daughter, has rescued a kitten and brought it into our family fold—claiming that it was HER kitten and she would do all the care and work, the little wild one usually turns to me for food, reassurance, and sneaks into my bed at night. I was staunchly declaring that I was “not his mother!” when my daughter put an arm around me and said, “I thought you were everybody’s mother.” Well, no, but there are definitely days when it seems that way!
I never set out to be a maternal type of mom—even though I always knew that I wanted to be a parent. Instead, I hoped to be somewhat hip and casual. I still am not always comfortable with the fact that all my kids’ friends, as well as plenty of my own think of me as “the mother.” After all, it sure doesn’t sound very saucy or sexy or fascinating does it? I’m young, for goodness sake! At forty I would still like to think there is chance for excitement and adventure in my future and that just doesn’t jive with the perpetual maternal “everybody’s mother” reputation that I am carrying around now.
I don’t know what makes a mother—despite all the writing I do on the subject or the fact that I am deeply entrenched in living the reality. Is it that I cook the piles of food, setting them out on the counter and calling out: “There’s food” to whoever might inhabit my house? Is it that I buy new underwear and socks or pick up wet towels or remind my kids when it’s time to wash their sheets? Or is it that I sign progress reports and permission slips and sit through those uncomfortable teacher conferences? Well, I’m not doing any of those things for this wild new kitten and he seems determined to claim me as his own. Is it a life sentence? Will I forever be “everybody’s mother” or is there still some sauciness left too?
Also: Coming to School in Your Slippers (And Other Dastardly Deeds)