Sometimes I feel so selfish.
Not selfish because I care about myself more than about the people around me. Mothers have no room to be that sort of selfish. After all, a mother who tries to treat herself to the last cookie in the jar knows that someone else's little eyes will find that cookie and someone else's little teeth will gobble it up before the mother even realizes that she's given it away. No, I'm not that kind of selfish. Impossible.
I'm selfish because while I think I'm being selfless, I concentrate so hard on my family, or more specifically, on my kids, that there seems to be no time for those other people out there who care so much about me, who give so much to me, and who always seem to play second fiddle to my offspring.
My mom, for one.
Today, my mother went grocery shopping for me, clothes shopping for me, babysitting for me, and even smoothie-making for me (and the kids). She loves me. Beyond what a normal mom does, she gives to me. And gives and gives. Selflessly.
And I thought today, as I think on so many days, that when I grow up I want to be just like my mom. (No, I'm not grown up yet. You're not grown up until you're the same age as your mother. I'm not there yet.)
But when I do get there, I want to treat my adult kids with the same selflessness. Making them feel that they're truly worthwhile, because after all, why else would I give them so much of my time and energy? I'll no longer be bound by society to give to my children. According to the world around us, empty nests are a signal that a selfish period has begun, that it's time to focus on yourself now that there aren't any snotty noses to wipe, any curfews to set, any PTA meetings to attend. And yet, some empty nesters, like my mother, ignore society's call to lie on a pool chair in the sunshine drinking iced lemonade. Instead, (at least when they're in town,) they continue to pour their own time and efforts into making their grown children feel loved.
But right now? Somehow as a mother, it's easy to become so focused on dealing with Boo's tonsils, Bub's tantrums, or Turtle's new school, that the rest of the world fades from sight. After all, keeping in touch with people takes TIME. Something that any self-respecting mom is unwilling to donate to anyone but the hubby and kids. And sometimes just the kids.
Which is a shame.
I've thought about doing something for my mother, my sister, my friend, the people in my life who care about me and show me that they do, even as I get swept away in the ocean that is conscious parenting. But the waves are so strong that months later I look back and realize that I never did race onto the shore, flinging my loved ones into the air and shouting their name for all to hear. Selfish. Self-centered. Kid-centered? How awful.
I often think about what my mother was like when she was at my stage of life. Raising three kids, around the same ages as mine. Did she keep in touch with her brother as much as she wanted to? Have time and mindspace to celebrate her friends' birthdays with the same flair that she did before she was married? Dedicate time to the community, to elderly neighbors who lived around her, to her kids' schools? Or did all that just come afterwards? As the youngest child by four years, I remember my mother when things were more settled, I assume. When the wails of infants and the bombs of toddlerhood were a memory, and when most of us kids were more independent and less demanding. But what were things like during those tumultuous years?
Part of me hopes that she was like me. That her kids took over her life, that she struggled to remember birthdays, anniversaries...or didn't struggle anymore, because she just gave up. That she dedicated herself to us to such a degree that everyone else faded into the background.
I hope she did. Not because I have any doubt as to her dedication to us -- I definitely don't. But because if she fell into the whirlpool of motherhood and emerged unscathed, then there's hope for the rest of us. For me.
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