Mother's Day is this Sunday.
I think I'll talk about mothering. It's so different than fathering. Yes, that sounds sexist, but I know of no men who give birth or nurse the babies. So from day one, a mother has given life itself. Then she comes up with this mysterious milk right out of her body also, to keep that life going for months...with regular demands for it.
By the time a child has begun to walk, talk and feed itself, a father can pretty well do everything a mother can do for it. Though few do.
I loved how my children were waist high, then shoulder high, and then all surpassed me as adolescents. These young men then knew more than I did, and acted like it. They finished schooling, married really great women, and now I have 6 grandchildren.
Giving birth is not easy! There's seldom a remembrance of how hard that task actually was.
As my grandchildren arrived, I found out I was not the mother who my son's honored on Mother's Day anymore. The wives who had given birth to their children were the mothers in my sons' lives from then on.
It's as it has ever been.
I honor all who give birth to creativity and sustaining life...not just those who have a baby.
The mothers of invention need to be recognized, and we also need to acknowledge many mothers have babies who may not have been completely nurturing. Honoring life and creativity is what it's all about.
My current "baby" lying next to the mask I made of Muffin many years ago, and the box under it with her ashes. Besides them is another form of life (green) in a beautiful pot by my friend, Cathy Babula.
A time to kindle the flame of friendship, and remember the return of light, but watching that fire is under control.
