I forgot to remember or, Why I hate Mother's Day

So, did you do it? Did you call or text or mail a card to or take out to brunch or spend time with or write a special poem to or make a special craft for your mommy?
Did you demand your children call you or pay you some measure of expected respect today?
Maybe you sat alone, wondering why your mom gave you up for adoption?
Or maybe your womb cried out to you as you second guessed the abortion you had.
Did you stare at the phone cringing at the thought of speaking to your mom because the conversations are always difficult, hurtful or full of awkward silences.
Or... maybe you tried desperately to not think about how much you are not a mom even though you've spent hundreds of thousands of dollars trying to be.

Culturally commercial expectation. It sucks right? I mean, why is there a determined day to "honour" mothers, or fathers for that matter?

Did you know the original intent behind Mother's Day was not to perpetuate the commercial sector? It was a call to arms. A battle cry if you will for moms, for Women to stand up against the destruction of the world, of their children.

Julia Ward Howe. The woman behind "Battle Hymn of the Republic" wrote "Appeal to womanhood throughout the world" in 1870 later to be known as "Mother's Day Proclamation". She had had enough of war, the American Civil War and then the Franco-Prussian War and was pleading an appeal to woman all over the world to take hold of their responsibility to change and shape their respective societies at the political level.

THIS IS BIG STUFF

This is a passive call because it's words on paper not violence with arms, but it is big none the less. She was calling the women of the world to active peace. A passive call to active peace. What does that look like? Does it look like Hallmark cards and 1-800-flowers?

Julia worked tirelessly to forward her message of active peace with speaking tours and rallies all over the world and from this sprouted gatherings that were rooted in faith, protest and feminism. Nine years later however, after it had been turned into a celebration and a holiday by then American president Woodrow Wilson, Julia cried in frustration and demanded boycotts saying, "this is not what I intended. I wanted it to be a day of sentiment, not profit"

I am so completely opposed to hallmark holidays I can't even begin to tell you. Things that have a raw, deep, cutting history are turned into fluff and cause our humanity to think only of ourselves and what we aren't getting.
My oldest son gave me a marigold in a pot with a little card that he made at school on Friday and I loved it because he made it. Not because it was mother's day and I damn well better get something. Today my two oldest, in their Sunday school classes gave me flowers made from paper cut outs of their hands and I love them because it is from their own person, those flowers are their hand shape and size. I don't, however, love them because it's mother's day and somebody better give me flowers or else.
I don't expect my husband to wait for this day to thank me for being the mother of his children and if my boys need a special day to tell my that they love me then somewhere along the way I really screwed the pooch as a mom and what do I do now? That means I am sure to have no relationship with them at all, whether it's mother's day or not.

I have a son, my oldest oldest, to be precise, that I haven't heard from since May 7, 2007. This year, had he reached his due date would have been 7. And this year for the second year in a row I forgot to remember him on the anniversary of his first and last day of his timeless life. Does that make me feel like less of a mom? You betcha it does. Does it make me feel like I've been a mom for 7 years even though my current oldest is only 5 1/2?  You betcha it does.

This anniversary will always fall close to mother's day. My first "mother's day" was May 12, 2007 and I hated it. But, it gave me the opportunity to look rationally at mother's day. The purpose for it. How we as a society have failed it. How we can redeem it. I have been stewing over this for years until finally today I stumbled across the history of it.

I have grown tired of the kitchy posts or memes I see on the internet "share this if you love your mom" or inspirational posts about how great mom's are and "battle cries for all the work moms do and we deserve breakfast in bed on mother's day" or at the very least to pee in peace! Recently there was a post that went around about how much a mom should be paid if you classified all the duties she does and scaled her pay based on those jobs in the workforce. To me that actually demeans what a mom does because if she was in it for the money then, whoa, we have a problem.

Moms are so much more than that. Moms have a power and strength and resource to shape this world. IF we can stop fighting each other over homeschooling and breastfeeding and pinteresting and discipline, and potty training, and meal planning and stay at home vs. work place. Can we do it? Can we? Our children require us to do more than wipe their bums and clean their ears. We are more than yelling about homework, or fighting at the hockey rink. Aren't we more than "pick up your wet towels" and "don't hit your brother's penis" I want to be more than "you can't go outside till you eat all your supper"

Our (collectively here) OUR CHILDREN are being called into action for their community and we are their armery. I don't want this to sound like they are off to war, I mean that is exactly what Julia Ward Howe was trying to stop, but if our biggest concern in what kind of adults our children will become is more about getting a card on mother's day than our children leaving their mark for good on this world....

Oh the sweet irony

We left our honey in Port Moody.

So what? You say.

Our beautiful, liquid gold, wildflower, from a local orchard honey.

Ya, so?

I have been consuming this honey since my teen years. My parents first purchased it in 2 litre ice cream buckets. Then started getting it in gallon pails once we realized we were addicted to it. One year my dad came home with a 5 gallon pail! There is no other honey that I have tried that tastes like it. Not unlike wines, honey is affected by the environment it is produced in. I have had orange blossom honey from Atlanta, Georgia. Apple blossom honey from Abbotsford, BC. I have had clover honey and buckwheat honey and honey from a restaurant packet and honey from a tub in a common grocery store and let me tell you they all taste extremely different. But none are like my wildflower honey from Stuber's farm in Abbotsford. In the haste of the pack up and go for Brad and Carlon on their road trip adventure up north the honey bucket got left behind at my sister's.

Don't worry, the irony is not lost on me

The sweetness and unique-in-it's-make-up quality of honey can be so easily equated to our families can it not?
I love my family. Yes sometimes they drive me nuts but I still love them and currently am having a hard time releasing myself from the viscosity of the adhesiveness of my family. In other words I'm homesick. I've left my family..... my honey behind.

Hawk has found at least one honey producer up here and we'll give it a try. And I know there are lots of opportunities for more "families" for our little family. But it will be different. It's all so different.
My biscuits will taste different, my tea, my granola, my bread. All the things I use my honey for. And so my comfort level is affected, the ease, the warm blanket of familiarity and protection that comes with a family. With my family. Walking into my sister's house, kicking off our shoes, the boys running around chasing the dog, or running outside to jump on the trampoline. Hearing my niece (just barely) in her room playing her guitar, watching my other niece jumping with her cousins. Sitting in comfortable quietness with my big brother (in law) watching the hockey game, or whatever. Calling my other sister and chatting so quickly from the deepness of our hearts and knowing that even though we were separated by a 40 minute drive it would be nothing to make it happen. Jumping in the car to go to my parents to raid their garden and they want me to do it. My last drive through my old neighbourhood produced bittersweet tears. I broke my leg there, I rode my bike there, I sled down that hill, I got bit by a dog there, and all these houses for halloween.
It all went down so smooth and tasted so sweet.

So, now what. I have to leave that honey behind. I have to "set them aside" (words directly from my big sis's mouth as I squeezed her good-bye at the airport).

Ok, so I will taste the honey here. It won't be the same and it shouldn't be. It should be different, but it will still be sweet.