Wouldn’t I just be lucky enough to get Mother’s Day as my regularly scheduled blog post day. *sigh* 
I’m not a fan, in general, of prescribed celebration days like this one. However one of the first things my husband and I bonded over was Mother’s Day. We stood in a Ralphs together, a few weeks before the event, looking at cards:

“Mom, you were always there for me.”
“Not so much.”
“Mom your hugs are the warmest.”
“Um, well….”
And so on, until we smiled ruefully at each other, looking for the most non-sappy card, and laughing at our shared predicament.

Yes, it’s Mother’s Day, but we also have to be honest that not all mothers are the mother we need. Some are not kind or safe. Some are just cold, like hugging an ironing board instead of a loving mother, or absent, or not interested. In those cases, we learn something important. We mother ourselves. We learn to speak gently where others were harsh. We learn to protect what is still tender. We learn to become the steady presence we once needed. And, even those marginal mothers… I feel like we have to allow that not everyone who becomes a mother wanted to be a mother, and so it seems almost natural that some are not going to be good at it. Until all mothers become mothers solely by choice, there’s something demanded of, and taken from, women that also negates their personhood. So, Mother’s Day is a mixed bag at best, in my opinion and experience.

Mother’s Day does force us to think about our mothers, which I guess is the point, but let’s think beyond our biological mothers to all the ways mothers and mothering show up in our lives. Mothering does not belong to one shape, one role, or one person. We mother children. We mother pets who rely on us for warmth, routine, and the quiet comfort of being known. We mother friends when they are exhausted and cannot hold themselves up for a while. We mother partners, siblings, parents, and sometimes even strangers, offering care that asks for nothing back. Sometimes dads do the mothering better, and men can mother as well as women.

We also mother our homes, our gardens, our work. We tend to them. We notice what is growing and what is struggling. We prune what no longer serves, and we stay present long enough for things to take root.

Mothering is not only about giving birth. It is about giving attention. It is about noticing life and choosing to care for it, again and again, in all its forms.

As authors, we mother each other too. We nurture stories before they are ready to stand on their own. We encourage drafts that are still learning how to breathe. We remind each other to keep going when doubt gets loud. I have been especially grateful for Virginia Watts (who I also think of affectionately as “Dead Wood” because she has a remarkable gift for cutting away everything unnecessary from my writing). There is something deeply maternal in that kind of care. She has helped me shape my forthcoming book, and I am forever grateful because her mothering gave me courage to keep writing.

And, on Mother’s Day, I am always especially grateful for my daughter. I didn’t birth her, but I mother the heck out of her, and she often allows it and even tolerates it pleasantly, for which I am forever full of gratitude. I love being a mother, and I love mothering. It is one of my main joys in life, and on this day I send so much love to my pets, and my wonderful daughter, without whom I would not a mother be.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the variety of mothers, and to those grieving mothers or mother’s love, a hug and a wish for peace for you.

Mother’s Day also means forcing your family to do what you want to do. We’re gonna go eat dim sum now. LOL Sticky rice!