Day 6: The Art of Being a Mother- Part 1 of 2

There's something to be said for the iPhone.  For all my protest and raving against it, I have no choice but to admit that never before, in the history of humankind, has it been so simple to capture the magic of a single precious moment.  Unfortunately, the camera has to be pointed at you in order for this to take place.  Historically, and some would argue anciently, this was accomplished by asking a random stranger to take a photo of you and yours, so that you might be a recognized participant in the moment, rather than merely the ghostly suggestion and absent presence of the mysterious photographer.  No more is this the case: the "selfie", for good or for ill, is apparently here to stay.  But what about those among us who choose not to engage in the now commonplace practice?  Does this mean that there are whole worlds of interactions, moments, and experiences that are left unshared by the rest of the world?  Can this really be the case?  It is, and I, for one, feel that it's exactly the way things should be.

My only misgiving is that, the above being true, I have little by way of visual evidence to lend credence to the following words.  This is not an apology.  There would be very little to see, in any case.  What I'm about to share is not the sort of thing that makes headlines and garners great attention.  In fact, quite the opposite, I believe it's all too easy to shrug off and leave, forgotten, lying in some corner of our consciousness.  The point to which I wish to speak is the art of being a mother.

Being a man, myself, I have no experience, no qualifications, no credentials that give me authority to say with conviction what others should or should not do in fulfilling this most catalytic role.  What I offer instead are observations, brief summaries of thousands of hours of watching and studying one single mother, throughout a thousand points of time and interaction, developing in skill and ability.  I wish to share, in words, a few moments that have not been captured by camera, but only by my own eyes.  Reflecting now, I realize that, having done the capturing myself, rather than capturing the moments on camera, in capturing I have become captivated; acting as captor, I have become the captive, and this not unwilling.

Patience: It seems to me that all mothers must, of necessity, be saints.  Like Job, my wife is dealt trials and tribulations that are awesome and terrible in their scope.  First, she is married to me.  Lest this be misconstrued, let me explain: she has had to endure the constant waffling, crest to trough, in-again out-again, back-and-forth method of "decision-making" that makes up my life.  She has done so with a steadiness of faith, conviction, and all-around cheerfulness that has been the tiller and sails to my little boat of dreams.  It's a wonder she hasn't been seasick.  Though, maybe we don't call it seasickness; maybe we call it morning sickness.  Goodness knows there's been enough of that.  Still, she endures it without complaint, asking merely for some company and mild assistance, throughout it all.  Twice now, and, by her own admission, more times in the future, she has and will continue to endure it with patience I could only ever hope to have.  Also, if you know nothing else about toddlers, know only this: repetition is learning, messes are productivity, and stubbornness is growth.  A mother must have patience.

Tenacity:  If I learn no other lesson from my wife, I will have learned this: the answer to the question never asked is most certainly "No".  A mother is an advocate, from the first moment of birth.  A wise man once said that with the birth of a child, comes also the birth of a mother.  From that first wonderful cry, the child stands or falls on the ability of her mother to meet her needs.  Nowhere have I seen such passionate pursuance of necessity and nicety as in the meeting of a child's needs, real or imagined, by a mother.  My Claire is nothing if not tenacious.  In Chicago, the popular opinion is that children, from the earliest time possible, should be in preschool programs.  In almost every interaction with mothers, professionals, or peers, she is constantly bombarded and beleaguered as to when and where she'll be enrolling our daughter.  Claire's desire has always been to stay home and be with our children herself; she's expressed that she would feel jealous of any other person who got to be with and care for our children day in and day out.  She never thought that this decision was one that she would find herself fighting for.  And yet, she's waded into the fray unwaveringly, never swaying in her decision or her conviction.  She is nothing if not tenacious.

Repair:  Life is not always rainbows and butterflies: conflict is real and normative.  However, being a mother requires the skillful navigation both into and out of troubled waters.  Setting limits with an almost-two-year-old can be exhausting, difficult, and not without casualties, for reasons mentioned above.  I've watched my wife set limits with our daughter that were met with bouts of literal kicking and screaming.  Through this, Claire manages to remain calm and firm; see both of the previous traits.  When the tantrum is over, however, I have never seen Claire fail to take the opportunity to reach out in love and care for our little girl, and that little girl equally reaches out in love and appreciation for the constancy that is in her mother's capacity to love her, no matter how she acts.  It is through the experience of conflict and disorganization that we rise to higher levels of complexity and organization.  In relationships, this directly applies to love.  The more my daughter sees her mother stay available and adoring no matter how terrible her own experience of anger or frustration, the deeper she will come to love Claire for her constancy.  This does not happen on its own.  I have watched time and time again as Claire creates the opportunity for repair to take place.  It's her responsibility to create, not to coerce: the ultimate decision must be our daughter's.  Rupture in relationships is a certainty.  So too, should repair be.  Let us not forget that after rain, come the rainbows, and after the cocoon, which seems wholly devoid of life, come the butterflies.

End of Part 1