Now I Understand
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Ten Favorite Ways to Honor Mom
On my first Mother's Day, I received a card and a small box from my mom. Inside the box was a beautiful strand of pearls — something I'd always wanted. But the card was the best part: She said she was thoroughly enjoying both her first grandson and watching me develop into a caring, creative mother.When I was young, my grandmother would let me "shop" at her home for a Mother's Day gift for my mom, leaving things like a scarf or a stickpin on the bed. I had forgotten all about the ritual until I saw my grandmother sneak my 3-year-old son into her room. Curious, I snuck up to the door. She had collected about 10 things for him to "shop" from for my present.
Being patient with my mom is one way I try to honor her, especially since I know I tested her patience when I was young. As she's gotten older, she repeats herself a lot, which can be frustrating. But then I remember how lucky I am to have her around. One thing she never forgets to tell me is how much she loves me, and that's the kind of repeating a daughter can't get enough of.
Every Mother's Day, my husband and my 3-year-old come with me to put flowers on the grave of my birth mother, who died when I was 6. Then we go to my parents' house for dinner. My stepmom has been with me since I was 7. I admire her so much for taking on three additional kids when she married my dad. Only a strong and loving woman could pull off such a feat. I feel incredibly fortunate that I have the chance to follow in her wise footsteps.
Since I've become a mother I think a lot more about the "birth" part of birthdays. I've realized it's really my mom who deserves to be recognized on my birthday, not me. So now I send her a small gift on that day. For bringing me into the world, yes, but also for showing me every day since then what being a good mom is all about.
When I was 16 and knew everything, I used to claim I would never be like my own mother. But now I'm 35 with a 13-year-old daughter and a 2-year-old son. From counting to 10 when my daughter slams her bedroom door for the 100th time to laughing uncontrollably when my toddler disrobes and streaks across the house, there is not a day that goes by that I am not truly grateful that I learned how to be a mother from the woman who is mine.
Before I had kids, I talked to my mother on the phone maybe once a week. Now we speak almost daily — she is the only person in the world aside from my husband and me who can't wait to hear about our children's every accomplishment. I'm thrilled to share, and I love having such an enthusiastic audience, at any hour.
A few years ago, a mother in our neighborhood went through a difficult divorce. So my kids and I decided to put together a surprise breakfast basket for Mother's Day and we delivered it to her door early Sunday morning. That was four years ago, and she still talks about it to this day. Each year since, we've done something for the mothers in our community that we know might be having a tough time. It's a simple gesture, but it means a lot.
My daughter once gave me a small glass jar filled with slips of paper, each one with a reason she loved me written on it. It's something I'll keep forever.
The old saying "When you're a parent, you'll know that I'm only doing this because I love you" has never rung more true since I gave birth to my daughter. I now understand the tough choices my mother had to make, and that all those times I felt so angry with her she was only acting out of love. I don't think I can ever repay my mom for the wisdom she has given to me. I can only hope to raise my own daughter well so she will see her own spirit shining through in her granddaughter.
It wasn't until I had children of my own that I learned what my mom had meant by "fair is not equal".
I remember a journal entry I wrote when I was 9. "Today Mom hugged my brother and she didn't hug me." My mom was always at the receiving end of my accusations that she favored my brother, 14 months younger, over me. When I was growing up, many of the things my mother did made no sense to me.For instance, she always encouraged my shy younger brother to sing Hindi songs in public even though I was a better singer. When I asked her why, she said, "Because he needs to sing in public more than you do." She sent me — a boisterous tomboy — to an expensive convent school in an attempt to turn me into a "lady," while my brother attended a free state school. (Most of my parents' friends did the opposite: The son got the better education while the daughter was the also-ran.) She sent my brother to a karate course that I fancied because "we can't afford to send you both, and he needs it more than you do." My brother and I frequently questioned her choices and her unfairness. Her exasperated response? "Being fair does not mean being equal. It means making allowances for the differences between your personalities." Now that I'm the mother of two very different individuals, I totally get it.
When I was a teenager, she once told me (in a fit of anger, since I had come home late from a party) that she never wanted me to be fettered by the conservative conventions that prevented her from getting an education or from going out without a male escort by her side. She wanted me to be independent and free. But that didn't mean that I could abuse my freedom and show up at midnight without even a phone call. And then she gave me a quick slap. At the time I was shocked. Now, I understand what might drive a mother to that point.
With my children, however, Mom is a complete softy, as grandparents are known to be. When I see my mother with them, I can't get over how remarkably broad-minded she is, given that she was raised in an orthodox Brahmin family in a tiny South Indian village. She encourages my girls to reach for the stars while keeping their feet planted firmly on the ground. I love watching my sari-clad mom and my 3-year-old play with Lego blocks. "You are such a good builder," Mom says. "Maybe you'll build the next Empire State Building." She and my 8-year-old giggle over Bollywood movies and Hilary Du with equal gusto. Weaned on Mary-Kate and Ashley, Ranju wants to be a fashion designer. My mother wants her to be an astronaut. "Go to the moon," she says. Then, invoking traditional Indian beliefs, she adds, "And sprinkle my ashes there."
