Can you hear the flutes?
Hello from cloudy Vermont. The sun peaked out this morning. It’s gone now. Lamoille County has been covered by a thick, cloudy blanket since last fall. People here (including me) are starting to mutter to themselves and wave their hands wildly as they walk down the street. We are all stir-crazy from lack of Vitamin D and the warm sun on our faces. Prognosis? Another week of rain. Diagnosis? Time to get out of Dodge.
My teacher friend in Kenya tells me that when expats come to settle nearby, they start off cranky. But after three or four months in the sun, they perk up and walk and run and move like they haven’t in years. I want some of that. For now though, I’m rooted in Vermont, still uncertain about moving, still waiting for information on possibilities. I have nothing new to tell you, except that I’m still hoeing out.
It’s Mother’s Day tomorrow. Around this time of year, I automatically give myself a report card grade in regard to my mothering abilities. The result? A grade of good enough. Not stellar, not pathetic, just good enough. Tonight my husband’s preparing a special meal to celebrate me, and tomorrow I’ll celebrate my own mother. I’ve told my mom over and over–in song, in letters, in person–how much she means to me. When my girls were young, they’d give me colored paper cards with macaroni glued on it and the words “I love you!” carefully written out. They’re older now, but their cards are just as creative. I do miss the macaroni…
Sometimes this mothering business is excruciating, like when you see your children suffer and there’s nothing you can do, or when they walk into a mistake they could have avoided if they would have just listened the first time (or the second or third). Sometimes it’s sublime, like when you see your child hold the door for an elder or offer her seat in a crowded bus. Mostly it’s formulaic–you try to meet their needs and at least some of their wants, for which they may or may not be grateful. But here’s the thing. We mothers are the best cheerleaders for each other. We mothers are the best at feeling grateful for what other mothers do. So I want you to know that I’m grateful for all you moms and women who step in as moms. I cheer for all you do and are. There’s a band right now marching out there in your honor. Can you hear the flutes?
Check in next week for another segment of Finding Home.