Mother’s Day

Recently a comment jumped out at me on social media about this time our world is in. It stated something to the effect of “not everything has to be transformative. Just survival is good enough”.

This has stuck with me for weeks. I guess it depends on how you look at your own life and what we are here for. This experience has produced much isolation, suffering, depression and sadness no doubt. I am ever mindful of this and grateful for my blessings.

Have I taken time to eat badly, gain weight, binge watch, be down and confused by it all? Yes.

But I guess at the end of the day, I am here to be transformed. No matter the circumstance. Whether it be hindsight 20/20 or an in-the-moment club over the head of insight…I am here to improve my capacity for learning, wisdom and experience. And it’s my responsilbility to share it with others and to serve in my best capacity. Yes, I want to survive, but I crave being able to THRIVE.

I am a Mother. And this new and strange journey with all of my children these last 7 weeks has been one of great reflection, observation and inspiration. We have done our best to thrive together.

A drive-by birthday celebration for my Father.

New places to complete homework (in an unseasonably warm, early Spring day)

Mixed in with creativity and fresh air.

The Moms are doing the home schooling, communicating with teachers, coordinating the virtual play dates, exercising, online shopping, working from home, working outside of the home, sanitizing, cleaning, coordinating different kinds of celebrations, keeping it together and being hopeful, modeling strength and positivity. This is transforming me the most.

I want my kids to be able to thrive. They are missing out on a lot of traditional things we take for granted. And some very important rites of passage. But I would much rather try to help them with focusing on the positive and working through ways to overcome and adapt than just using every day as a means to “wait it out” until whatever new normal we will return to.

The homemade cards today, my favorite french toast and sweet smiles and hugs is showing me we are transforming together and thriving.

Happy Mother’s Day to all who mother. Next year at this time we will have come so far.

© Jennifer Scheidt and Titanimom, 2020. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Jennifer Scheidt and Titanimom with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

For some, as seasons change it is a reminder of the quick passage of time. It might be a glimpse of the first robin of Spring or the moment you slip on those flip-flops after a brutal winter just itching to show off your new pedi.

One of my markers of the passage of time involves sequins, fake hair, oodles of bobby pins and gaudy makeup. No, I am not a stay-at-home Mom by day and a street-walker by night…It’s recital season. Ugh and Yay! all at the same time.

Twinkle Toes (what creative genius came up with that pseudonym?) has been dancing since she was three. She’s ready to hit double-digits in a couple weeks…so, a long time.

There is always a little dread when coordinating the weekend. Rehearsal on Thursday night. Be there at 6 o’clock sharp. Somewhere north of 50 people milling around all looking at their watches looking forward to being done with this necessary evil. Wishing for some couch time with an episode of Modern Family, just one more errand completed or a last-minute dinner that didn’t include nuggets or noodles.

Looking ahead to the weekend it’s always “cram stuff in, hurry home to get ready and fly out the door”. Make sure there is enough time to fight with Twinkle and her “bun”, apply just enough toxic hairspray to hold up a bridge and be sure to pick up all lost bobby pins lest they end up in Little Bee’s stomach . Apply said gaudy makeup and stand back and admire the horror of my sweet almost-ten-year-old looking just-enough garish so the back row can see her red-lipped smile.

But THIS year I was so looking forward to leaving Bee with my husband, parking my tush in that seat, taking a breath, relaxing and watching my daughter and all the young girls at the studio (and one very brave boy!) dance their hearts out and showcase their sizable talent.

After all was said and done it was hands down the best performance I have ever seen them produce. Literally blown away. And it turned out to be an early Mother’s Day gift.

Sappy princess song after saccharin-sweet love song played on. But most of these performers were not the little ones looking backstage for every movement cue. These girls/young women were pouring their hearts into some beautiful artistry. And quite honestly some very grown-up expression. So You Think You Can Dance had a few contenders here with this bunch, no joke.

As I sat there (in between my mother and Bee’s Godmother) a myriad of things was going through my mind:

Was it not just yesterday that Twinkle was dancing on her Dad’s toes in a costume made for a pre-schooler? And here she was graceful and confident with a plié here and a relevé there.

Many of the older girls on stage are just on the cusp of what life will offer them. Will all the years spent honing their craft make an impact in their adult lives somehow?

As the strains of the Beatles’ Yesterday and Train’s When I look to the Sky played on (I’ll admit these two always kinda get me) I thought back to the last five years. When did the engagement parties and baby showers I attended segue over to funerals and battles with disease? Passage of time.

Time is marching on and it is going so very fast. There have been great losses and uphill battles in the lives of many of my family and friends. People have come together. Communities have come together.

As Mother’ Day approaches a beautiful little ballet recital made me pause and think of the very best that the women in my life have to offer one another.

Countless meals, hugs and smiles. A phone call here. Several fundraisers there. A letter sharing empathy because someone else experienced it too. The space to grieve. An angel pin. The t-shirt worn to support an effort. The poem read even when the tears were still blinding. A locket to house the most precious of photos. The book dropped on a doorstep because it had to be shared. The party thrown to offer support and say goodbye to something that no longer served its purpose. A good cry. A flower. A prayer.

I don’t know what impact these experiences my daughter has had dancing will have on her. But they have surely left an imprint on her Mom.

Happy Mother’s Day.

© Jennifer Scheidt and Titanimom, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Jennifer Scheidt and Titanimom with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.