Be

I have been ruminating deeply of late on the state of being. To be is vastly different than to want, to strive, to avoid. To be is powerful. It is humbling. It is to know not only what you are, but what you are not. Better yet, if done right, it's only one moment in a lifetime of becoming.


Probably the hardest state of being, the one that slips and slides out of grip and refuses to be pinned down in a suitably infuriating manner, is parenthood. Or, to be precise, step-parenthood. To be a good parent is a constant challenge. The internal conditions can be tumultuous enough, given that the only real frame of reference is usually your own upbringing. Add in a batch of building hormones, some adorable but blinding teen awkwardness, and the strangeness of becoming part of an established family, and you've got a fairly slippery beast.


So Sunday was an interesting day. Mother's Day. I rang my own mum and messaged my sister (who is expecting her second bubba in September) the night before.
Then on Sunday, T., the boys and I went shopping to get the boys' mum a present, and had a lovely day at my mother-in-law's, as all of her children came round to visit with gifts, hugs and good cheer. It was also T's birthday the next day, so there was lots of well-wishing going round, but none came to me. 


On our way to dinner that night, I started getting really dejected. This is my first Mother's Day. Sure, I'm not with the boys all the time -- we have every second weekend and school holidays -- but I love the buggers, and as my own mum would say, I'm not exactly chopped liver. 
I tried to beat down the beast and put a good face on things in front of the boys. That's what being a good parent is about. The boys couldn't be expected to understand how I'm feeling. It would be nice if they did, don't get me wrong, but it's not their fault either if they don't. (I remember the astounding self-absorption of teen-dom. They'll swear they're not self-absorbed, but I know it's a self-deception. I'd have made the same argument.)


I told T. how I was feeling -- I may put a good face on things for the lads, but I will not become a martyr -- then cheerily sucked it up and shared a lovely dinner with my family. 
And as we sat down to eat, and raised our glasses for a toast to mothers everywhere, T. looked at the boys and said "And..."
"Oh yeah!" they said. "Happy Step-Mothers Day!" A. and E. raised their glasses again, with big smiles.
We clinked, and all that disquiet sadness evaporated to make way for my massive, beaming smile.


I got a rose at the end of dinner, as did all the mothers in the restaurant that night. It's a beautiful deep pink, and has now been carefully transported to Lake Huron for T.'s birthday getaway, and back to Toronto, where it's sitting on the dining table. 
Best flower ever.