Oh Mother's Day

This morning Sophia woke with the most beautiful bed head I've ever seen. She came running in with perfectly groomed gorgeous black curls. On rare days like this one, I dare not touch her hair or even comb through it. It's far too lovely the way it is. And normally, Sophia would be delighted to ditch the detangling routine. Not today.

"Mom, I want a ponytail," she declares, climbing up on her stool to look in the mirror.

"A ponytail?!? Really? Your hair is so beautiful and curly today, Sweetie. Let's leave it down."

"I don't want to leave it down. I want a ponytail."

"You never want ponytails. The only time you let me put one in is for gymnastics."

"I want a ponytail"

"How about putting this pretty white bow in front."

"Ponytail!"

"Alright, a ponytail it is," I concede, biting my tongue.

Motherhood has stretched me. With Claire, I carried her inside of me and my belly grew visibly larger. With Sophia, the growth I'm experiencing may not be apparent on the outside, but it is profoundly changing me within. From her vibrant eccentric mismatching outfits to her exuberant extroversion on the playground, she stretches me. Sometimes I look at what she's laid out to wear and I think, "People might actually vomit with that color and pattern combination." But then, she puts it on and pulls it off. Her style is her own and she wants everyone to see the fashion show. One of our neighbor's has appropriately coined her the welcome wagon. This is all a little out of my introverted, raised on a farm, comfort zone.

On this particular Mother's Day Sunday, we're all ready to go to church ahead of schedule. Cooperative Claire woke from her nap by 9:30 and I decided to forgo any other wardrobe battles with Sophia.

"Let's walk to church," I declare. "It's Mama's special day, and I want to make sure we get outside before the rain clouds roll in."

We pack the double stroller with an umbrella just in case and on the way, discuss what we'll do if it's pouring when church lets out. Either Ryan or I will run back for the car or hitch a ride from our neighbors. The walk is good. Even after the First Annual FANA 5k the day before, the girls don't seem to mind the stroller time (at least on the way there). However, in church it becomes clear that the girls are still pretty wiped out from the day before (when we literally spent all day outside walking, running, and jumping on the trampoline with cousins.) Sophia is trying both Ryan's and my patience as she either insists on being held or hangs off the edge of the pew, threatening to bolt. She has suddenly forgotten how to whisper and Claire prefers to "sing," or loudly gnaw on her teether and make the "give me more puffs now" sound while the rest of the congregation prays. Perhaps another public outing today is not a good idea. I'm beginning to rethink a trip to the Minnesota Arboretum.

We make it home from church just before the rain comes. Suddenly a nap for the girls sounds like a better way to spend the afternoon. I've told Sophia that Mother's Day is Mami's special day, where I get whatever I want. She interprets this to mean I HAVE to snuggle with her and take a nap too.

"Te quiero, Mi amor, but Mami doesn't want to rest right now. I want some quiet think time."

She grips my arm tighter and I pull away. Fortunately she doesn't push it and is content enough to have a very willing Papi stay and nap with her.

Sophia can be quite demanding. I've never liked being told what to do, and neither does she. I imagine a lifetime of us pushing one another's buttons. I also see a lifetime of learning and growing from one another. We're hard on each other, but we're also good for each other. Sophia's empathy is good for me. Her questioning is good for me. Had my first child been more compliant, perhaps I'd still believe I could control much of my world, or worse, that if I couldn't control a situation, I had somehow failed.

This Mother's Day was an ordinary and rather uneventful day. Church, leftovers for lunch, a nap for everyone but Mama...and yet, it was just about right. As much as I try to resist a shift in thinking, my girls keep showing me that the worth of my day should not be measured in my accomplishments. It should be measured in what I don't get done. And I'd say that publishing this entry a full two weeks after Mother's Day is evidence that what they're telling me is sinking in.