Rebel Girl (Bikini Kill)

[One-of-a-kind hand-stitched embroidery works by Amy Tingle, with a line of one of Maya Stein's 10-line Tuesday poems touching on motherhood.]

Today was one of the best Mother's Days I've had in quite a while although, truthfully, they're all pretty amazing, especially since my daughter Sarah has become a mom; I get immense pleasure seeing her in action, parenting Colin with such patience as well as joy.  He is so much like her, and she is so much like me, and I am so much like my mom.  The nut definitely does not fall far from the tree.

Both my sons are in the restaurant business so, since it's one of their busiest holidays, they were of course unable to join us (and we will celebrate another time), but we invited Sarah and Colin over for a Pool Day, and I ordered in advance the Mimosa Starter Kit/Mother's Day Brunch Box from Einstein Bagels (no muss, no fuss, no bother), which my husband picked up:

Lest you worry about my dietary/nutritional choices, I had vegan cream cheese, sprinkled with Everything But the Bagel seasoning, topped with vegan smoked salmon (yes, there is such a thing!), and felt completely satisfied!

Long-story-short is that Colin is obsessed with wild animals, and I gave him a wildebeest figurine this morning, and he had more fun teasing us all:  "Is it a warthog?  Noooooo, it's a wildebeest!" he said, multiple times, with a twinkle in his eye.  Hilarious!

I gave Sarah a few items related to Schitt's Creek (which she and Rob got me watching a few months ago):  a Fold In the Cheese dishtowel, a sideways S necklace (like Alexis' A), and an Ew David tank top, which was running late and naturally arrived after they'd left.

Her present to me was promise of brunch/lunch at a new local farmer's market, with lots of vegan options, maybe even this next weekend.  My husband gave me a giftcard to Chico's (one of my favorite clothing stores, which I haven't stepped foot in in over a year), and will enjoy redeeming.

Yesterday afternoon I decided to watch Moxie on Netflix and, halfway through, texted everybody I know to encourage them to view it as well.  Excellent film, which reminded me of my younger protesting days (as opposed to my older protesting days, ha!), and also my friend M's daughter K (my son Rob's age), who used to publish a 'zine in high school, to which I subscribed.  Today's blog post song came from the movie, which reminded me that, although I've certainly made my share of mistakes in life, if there's one thing I can say with absolutely certainty, it's that I have always been and continue to be a good mom.  I take great pride in knowing that I have instilled in my children all the important values:  thoughtfulness, compassion, generosity, kindness, integrity, the importance of equality and social justice (and working toward it), passion, a love of music and language/books, creativity, and a great sense of humor.  [S]he who laughs, lasts... 😄

SONG:  Rebel Girl by Bikini Kill ("That girl, she holds her head up so high, I think I wanna be her best friend, yeah")

BOOK:  Motherhood: Facing and Finding Yourself by Lisa Marchiano

POEM(S):  What Children Say by Kate Baer

I can’t reach my cup, my water bottle,

the snack up on the shelf. I can’t do

it. I won’t do it. I would never do it

in a million years. You need to help

me. Help me faster. Do it the way

I asked you to. I don’t like pizza or

watermelon. I don’t like anything I

liked before. I do not want it. I do

not need it. I will never move up off

this floor. Do not help me. Do not

hold me. Do not sit down beside my

bed. I’m not sleeping. I’m not tired.

I’m too scared to fall asleep. You must

hold me. You must rock me. Do not

leave me all alone. I am thirsty. I am

hungry. I am too tired to put my toys

away. Do not be angry. Do not start

singing. Where is the butterfly I drew?

I’m still hungry. I’m still playing. Will

you leave me? Will you stay?

What Mothers Say by Kate Baer

I am tired. I am sleeping. I am heading

up to bed. Is it Tuesday? What’s tomorrow?

When’s the last I slept alone?

I am thinking. I am talking. Do you see

I’m on the phone? Bring the dishes, find

your blanket, put that book back on the

shelf. It is bedtime. It is rest time. You

need to go and brush again. I am working.

I am eating. This is why we bought you

toys. Go and play now, find your brother,

find elsewhere to make your ship. I am

angry, you’re not listening. Please stop

crying on the floor. It’s a school night.

Do your homework. Let me come and

scratch your back. I am listening. I can

hear you. Thanks for telling me the

truth. Let me closer, let me help you.

I am here now. Let me stay.

Stronger That You Know by Kate Baer

My friend’s young daughter tells her mother:

you’re stronger that you know.

We repeat this, even though it doesn’t make

sense. We say it to cheer each other up. We

say it, knowing how much harder it is: that vs.

than. One suggests it was always inside you.

The other suggests it’s better you’ve learned

the coin can flip either way.

We tell our daughters they can be anything.

We call them warrior, fierce, and brave

as if they arrive in war paint and heels

to fight off our old demons.

And when they suffer, which they do

we offer our consolations:

This is a part of it.

Take a deep breath.

Look at you kicking your legs.

Moon Song by Kate Baer

You are not an evergreen unchanged 

by the pitiless snow. You are not a photo, 

a brand, a character written for sex or 

house or show. You do not have to choose 

one or the other: a dream or a dreamer, the 

bird or the birder. You may be a woman of 

commotion and quiet. Magic and brain.

You can be a mother and a poet. A wife and 

a lover. You can dance on the graves you dug 

on Tuesday, pulling out the bones of yourself 

you began to miss. You can be the sun and the 

moon, the dance a victory song.

QUOTE:  "When a mother somewhere forgives herself for being human, earth exhales a little." ~ Breeze

Dancing with My Mother (Rachel Bissex)

From today's Writer's Almanac:

Today is Mother's Day. Mother's Day as we know it — where we celebrate our own mothers, with flowers, gifts, and cards — is relatively new, but annual celebrations to celebrate motherhood are an ancient practice.

The motherhood festivities have historically been in spring, the season of fertility. In ancient Egypt, there were celebrations to honor Isis, the loving mother-goddess, who is often shown in Egyptian art with the baby Horus at her breast, much like Mary and Jesus in later Christian iconography. The cult of the great mother-goddess Cybele began in Turkey and soon moved to Greece and Rome, and she was worshipped in some form for more than a thousand years. Her priestesses led wild celebrations, full of drinking, dancing, music, and all kinds of debauchery.

As the Roman Empire and Europe transitioned to Christianity, the Church set aside the fourth Sunday of Lent as a day to honor motherhood. It was a day to celebrate the Virgin Mary, and for people to honor their "mother church."

In the 1600s, England declared an official Mothering Day for that fourth Sunday of Lent. It was a time when families were encouraged to get together, and servants or workers were allowed one day off work to go see their mothers, since many working-class families in England worked as servants on separate estates and rarely got to see each other. Mothering Day was also declared an exception to the fasting and penance of Lent, so that families could have a feast together.

When the pilgrims came to America, they stopped celebrating Mothering Day, just as they stopped celebrating most holidays that they thought had become too secular.

Mother's Day was reintroduced to America in 1870 by Julia Ward Howe, who wanted to set aside a day of protest after the Civil War, in which mothers could come together and protest their sons killing other mothers' sons.

But the woman who really created Mother's Day as we know it was Anna Jarvis. Her mother had held Mother's Friendship Days to reunite families and neighbors separated during the war, and when she died, her daughter, Anna Jarvis, worked to proclaim an official Mother's Day to honor her mother and celebrate peace. And so on May 10, 1908, the first official Mother's Day celebrations took place in Grafton, West Virginia, and at a church in Philadelphia. In 1914, Woodrow Wilson designated the second Sunday of May as Mother's Day.

But Mother's Day became commercialized very quickly, especially in the floral industry, and Anna Jarvis was furious. She said, "What will you do to route charlatans, bandits, pirates, racketeers, kidnappers, and other termites that would undermine with their greed one of the finest, noblest, and truest movements and celebrations?" But flower sales and card sales continued to grow, and Anna Jarvis died in poverty and without any children of her own.

In the last U.S. Census, there were an estimated 82.8 million mothers in this country, and about 96 percent of American consumers spend money for Mother's Day.

It's midnight on Mother's Day... and it has been lovely, albeit exhausting - I actually spent most of the day with Michael McNevin, a singer-songwriter friend who played my concert series yesterday evening... and had a house concert today, which I drove him to/did merch for. Since my husband and daughter were out of town, it worked out okay - they had left me cards this morning... and I came home to a card and flowers from E, my youngest. All three of my children had chipped in to get me a gift certificate for a facial/massage - can't wait to redeem it sometime this week... and we'll do a family celebration in the next few days as well... :-)

Life is good - I have the most amazing children... and I am loved!

Here are my last two Mother's Day posts...

SONG: Dancing with My Mother by Rachel Bissex

BOOK: Undress Your Stress by Lois Levy

POEM: For A Mother-to-Be by John O'Donohue

Nothing could have prepared

Your heart to open like this.

From beyond the skies and the stars

This echo arrived inside you

And started to pulse with life,

Each beat a tiny act of growth,

Traversing all our ancient shapes

On its way home to itself.

Once it began, you were no longer your own.

A new, more courageous you, offering itself

In a new way to a presence you can sense

But you have not seen or known.

It has made you feel alone

In a way you never knew before;

Everyone else sees only from the outside

What you feel and feed

With every fiber of your being.

Never have you traveled farther inward

Where words and thoughts become half-light

Unable to reach the fund of brightness

Strengthening inside the night of your womb.

Like some primeval moon,

Your soul brightens

The tides of essence

That flow to your child.

You know your life has changed forever,

For in all the days and years to come,

Distance will never be able to cut you off

From the one you now carry

For nine months under your heart.

May you be blessed with quiet confidence

That destiny will guide you and mind you.

May the emerging spirit of your child

Imbibe encouragement and joy

From the continuous music of your heart,

So that it can grow with ease,

Expectant of wonder and welcome

When its form is fully filled

And it makes its journey out

To see you and settle at last

Relived, and glad in your arms.

QUOTE: "What a mother sings to the cradle goes all the way to the coffin." ~ Henry Ward Beecher

Blue Dress (Annie Gallup)

I've intimated here that my mom is in ill health - when I went up to Atlanta for my aunt's funeral, it was even more painfully obvious. Her troubles with pulmonary fibrosis, in addition to kidney disease, have caused her to slow down substantially (severe shortness of breath), as well as having to watch her diet, being ever-vigilant of protein, potassium, sodium and phosphorus - she just segued to Stage 4, with Stage 5 requiring dialysis.

So... a recent wish of mom's has us experiencing a beach vacation together (my family of 5; my sister, her husband and daughter; my brother; and mom) - my sister and I decided to make this happen before the summer got away from us, and spent the better part of a week e-mailing and phoning realty companies and rental properties to find the perfect location.

Despite the last-minuteness, we did come up with something on St. George Island, Florida that fit all our criteria: a house directly on the beach, with a pool, sleeps 10 - in addition, this one also has a jacuzzi, two family/living areas, an outdoor grill and, believe it or not, an elevator (since mom has trouble walking great distances). It's a bit pricy but, synchronistically, my aunt's passing saw that each of us received a few thousand dollars, which we'll just roll over toward the rental fees - found money, right?... :-)

The kids and I did B.J.'s bulk shopping night before last for most of our non-perishables (since there's only one grocery store on the island, small and expensive) - we bought enough to sink a battleship (snacks, sodas, alcoholic beverages, etc.) and will get milk, eggs, bread when we get there. Very sweetly, and secretively, my three children co-conspired to split the cost of groceries - I of course cried in the wholesale store...

The plan is to have very low-key breakfasts and lunches... and take turns cooking dinner, with a few evenings designated as restaurant nights and the last being Leftover Night (my self-admitted anal-retentive... um... attention-to-detail... sister compared it to the scene in About Last Night, that classic 80's movie with Demi Moore and Rob Lowe) - love you, Mari... <3

We're also bringing lots of games (Trivial Pursuit, Scrabble, cards) as well as Wii - guess I'll finally see what all this Guitar Hero fuss is about. Of course, it wouldn't be vacation without a totebag full of books - those are already stacked on the dining room table. I understand the shelling is good there - can't wait for relaxing strolls along the shore, and I'll be bringing my New Balances for exercise walking too!

We will do a Cocktail/Happy Hour each evening, which could very well coincide with the sunset - I am a strong believer in coming to a standstill to reverently honor the peaceful and colorful beauty of day's end... and I also encourage applause when the glowing orb sinks below the horizon line... :-)

One of the special moments will be a pasta-making lesson - my mom has made her own noodles for years, and gave each of us a pasta machine for our wedding (you should see the family of spiders that resides in mine!). So, it was decided we will all bring our machines and mom will refresh our skills (the males as well as the females) - my Aunt Julia years ago established the first rule: take off your rings... :-)

Despite my sense of overwhelmedness these last few days with having just returned from Falcon Ridge... and advance planning for the first event of my concert series the Saturday we return (ack!), I am so ready to go on this vacation - we plan to make lots of memories and I will of course bittersweetly share them upon our arrival home...

We leave first thing tomorrow (Saturday, August 2) morning, and come back August 9 (about an 8-hour drive each way) - have a great week... as will I, returning tanned, well-rested and well-read... as well as a year older (we'll celebrate my 54th birthday at the beach... :-)

SONG: Blue Dress by Annie Gallup

BOOK: Dear Mom, I've Always Wanted You to Know: Daughters Share Letters from the Heart by Lisa Delman

POEM: Courage by Anne Sexton

It is in the small things we see it.

The child's first step,

as awesome as an earthquake.

The first time you rode a bike,

wallowing up the sidewalk.

The first spanking when your heart

went on a journey all alone.

When they called you crybaby

or poor or fatty or crazy

and made you into an alien,

you drank their acid

and concealed it.

Later,

if you faced the death of bombs and bullets

you did not do it with a banner,

you did it with only a hat to

cover your heart.

You did not fondle the weakness inside you

though it was there.

Your courage was a small coal

that you kept swallowing.

If your buddy saved you

and died himself in so doing,

then his courage was not courage,

it was love; love as simple as shaving soap.

Later,

if you have endured a great despair,

then you did it alone,

getting a transfusion from the fire,

picking the scabs off your heart,

then wringing it out like a sock.

Next, my kinsman, you powdered your sorrow,

you gave it a back rub

and then you covered it with a blanket

and after it had slept a while

it woke to the wings of the roses

and was transformed.

Later,

when you face old age and its natural conclusion

your courage will still be shown in the little ways,

each spring will be a sword you'll sharpen,

those you love will live in a fever of love,

and you'll bargain with the calendar

and at the last moment

when death opens the back door

you'll put on your carpet slippers

and stride out.

QUOTE: "The most important thing in illness is never to lose heart." ~ Nikolai Lenin

Mothers, Daughters, Wives (Judy Small)

For my mom, my stepmother-in-law and for all the mothers out there, most of whom continue to believe that peace is achievable - "study war no more" indeed...

From UncommonGoods.com:

Who are the mothers of Mother's Day? Before President Woodrow Wilson made it an official holiday in 1915, Mother's Day wasn't about flowers and cards, but instead it was a tribute to women's peace-making activities.

Mother's Day is actually a marriage of two separate campaigns that began during the Civil War. The first version of Mother's Day is attributed to Anna M. Jarvis of West Virginia who participated in Mother's Work Days, in which women's brigades worked to improve critical community sanitation. In 1868, Jarvis established Mother's Friendship Day, which encouraged women to ease tensions between North and South once the war was over.

The second mother of Mother's Day was Bostonian Julia Ward Howe, author of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," who called upon all women to band together to abolish war. Her Mothers' Peace Day celebrations took place for several years in Boston and other cities until the end of World War I.

[Added 5/12/08: For These Stars, Mom Rules by Donna St. George, Washington Post Staff Writer - thanks, AW, for the heads-up on the MCC list! ]

SONG: Mothers, Daughters, Wives by Judy Small

BOOK: Not One More Mother's Child by Cindy Sheehan, John Conyers Jr. (Foreword)

POEM: Prayer Chain by Tim Nolan

My mother called to tell me

about an old classmate of mine who

was dying on the parish prayer chain—

or was very sick—or destitute—

or it had not worked out—the marriage—

or the kids were all on drugs—and

all the old mothers were praying intensely

for all the pain of their children

and for life—they were praying for life—

in their quiet rooms—sipping decaf coffee—

I bet they've been praying for me at times—

so I'll find my way—so I won't rob a bank—

I'll take them—the mystical prayers of old mothers—

it matters—all this patient and purposeful love.

QUOTE: "Mothers are not the nameless, faceless stereotypes who appear once a year on a greeting card with their virtues set to prose, but women who have been dealt a hand for life and play each card one at a time the best way they know how. No mother is all good or all bad, all laughing or all serious, all loving or all angry. Ambivalence rushes through their veins." ~ Erma Bombeck

The Circle Game (Joni Mitchell)

"And the seasons they go round and round
and the painted ponies go up and down
we're captive on the carousel of time
we can't return we can only look
behind from where we came
and go round and round and round
in the circle game..."

Today is my daughter Sarah's birthday - the poem title quoted below is 5 years behind, but no less observant of the feelings evoked when I recall her 7-pound, 12-ounce self arriving at 7:19 p.m. 26 years ago... and the impression she's made in her little-over-a-quarter-of-a-century of life...

Like myself, S is the eldest and thus possesses "the responsibility gene" - she also inherited my naturally curly hair, ready smile and heart-on-sleeve sensitivity. She always believes the best of others until proven otherwise - she expects no more than she's willing to give, which translates to immeasurably. I have watched her grow into a fine young woman, a supportive friend, a devoted daughter - she has segued from tantrum-throwing teen to citizen of the world, remembering anniversaries, talking politics and even starting a recycling program at her job.

I will always cherish the Christmas I gave her the soundtrack to Practical Magic (a movie we had enjoyed together) and she holed up in her bedroom with it - when I faintly heard, through the door, the strains of Joni Mitchell's A Case of You on repeat play... I finally knew they had not switched babies on me in the hospital... :-)

Happy birthday, daughter - I love you dearly... <3

SONG: The Circle Game by Joni Mitchell

BOOK(S): Mirror, Mirror: Forty Folk Tales for Mothers and Daughters to Share, Jane Yolen (Editor)

My Mother/My Self: The Daughter's Search for Identity by Nancy Friday

Mothers and Daughters by Carol Saline, Sharon J. Wohlmuth

POEM: For My Daughter on Her Twenty-First Birthday by Ellen Bass

When they laid you in the crook

of my arms like a bouquet and I looked

into your eyes, dark bits of evening sky,

I thought, of course this is you,

like a person who has never seen the sea

can recognize it instantly.

They pulled you from me like a cork

and all the love flowed out. I adored you

with the squandering passion of spring

that shoots green from every pore.

You dug me out like a well. You lit

the deadwood of my heart. You pinned me

to the earth with the points of stars.

I was sure that kind of love would be

enough. I thought I was your mother.

How could I have known that over and over

you would crack the sky like lightning,

illuminating all my fears, my weaknesses, my sins.

Massive the burden this flesh

must learn to bear, like mules of love.

QUOTE: "A daughter is a mother's gender partner, her closest ally in the family confederacy, an extension of her self. And mothers are their daughters' role model, their biological and emotional road map, the arbiter of all their relationships." ~ Victoria Secunda

The One Who Knows (Dar Williams)

In a perfect world, every day should be Mother's Day... and Father's Day... and Earth Day... and Cinco de Mayo... and Talk Like a Pirate Day (aaarrrggghhh!) - having just celebrated the first of these occasions this past Sunday I can say, from experience, unconditional love always seems to manifest, albeit unintentionally, with strings attached. I tried to kick up the peace barometer and turn down expectation mode - not perfect... but better. I also read up on the history of what the day used to be before Hallmark took control - that's more like it!

SONG: The One Who Knows by Dar Williams

BOOK: The Runaway Bunny by Margaret Wise Brown

POEM: The Lanyard by Billy Collins

The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.

She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth

that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

QUOTE: "The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom of which you will always find forgiveness." ~ Honoré de Balzac