Happy Mother’s Day to everyone who has children in her
life! As we all know, motherhood,
sisterhood, aunthood, even mentorhood is not something for the faint of heart.
Helping to raise children who are self-confident, self-sufficient, and
all-around good citizens is the work of those who have spots already waiting
for them in heaven.
I have two children. I wanted ten, but someone was
definitely watching out for me. Two were plenty, and they were and are the joys
of my life. I think my husband and I raised two pretty great kids. We had the
normal parental skirmishes, but nothing major.
And I learned plenty from my daughter and son—which brings me to the
topic of this blog today. You might
think this will be about all the stick-to-itiveness, dream-building, and goal-achievement my kids taught me. But, no.
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| All my children: Daughter-in-law Jodi, Son Adam, Daughter Jennifer, Son-in-law Matt |
This is about how they taught me to rebel.
It started when I told my kids I would disown them if
they ever got tattoos. This wasn’t a
problem for my son—to this day he wouldn’t get a tattoo if you offered him the
moon. My daughter also had no problem
with this—until she turned eighteen. Then,
during spring break one year, she became the proud wearer of a tiny-but-permanent
leaping dolphin above her ankle. She obviously
won this round because I didn’t disown her (besides, she was eighteen), but maybe
I should have, since the next year she came back with a galloping horse on her
lower back. A horse with a fiery tail and hooves. It wasn’t tiny. Worst of all, I started to cave – I told her
it was pretty.
Fast forward several years. My son remained true to his
convictions. My daughter, on the other hand, taught by her own mother that
threats do not always come to pass,
started a campaign. When I turned fifty in a few more years, she would get me a
tattoo—and it would be that, or no present from her.
Hah! I told her I didn’t need presents. There would be no
tattoo. But the evil seeds were
planted. Over the next year I started
considering what little thing I could put on my lower back. A butterfly? A flower?
A rainbow? But my hubby is not a big fan of tattoos. My son couldn’t believe I’d even consider it.
My mother was horrified (would she disown me? I didn’t know). My daughter was
ecstatic.
Fast forward another two years to birthday number
fifty. Does it surprise you at all that
my daughter stuck to her guns? It would be a tattoo or nothing.
I got a tattoo.
Why? Because of what I learned from my kids, and that was
“follow your own heart.” If I didn’t want a tattoo, then I didn’t have to get
one and I didn’t have to care whether my daughter liked it or not. If I wanted a tattoo—and I’d learned that a
sick little part of my brain really did—then I needed to do it without apology.
In the end found that I needed to rebel, I wanted to rebel. I wanted to not be
a people-pleaser and to do something equivalent to what my daughter did over
those two spring breaks.
And in the end? I adored my tattoo. I still do. It’s not
tiny either – it’s a horse’s head framed by a horseshoe—stylized and based on
my own first horse. Guess what? Nobody disowned me. My husband thinks it’s fine
And my mother told me it was pretty. In a very silly way, it’s the most liberating
thing I’ve ever done – and it’s really pretty small when it comes right down to
it.
It’s also a wonderful, liberating thing to remember on the days when my writing
comes hard, and I’m convinced what I put down on the paper will disappoint
everyone: my agent, my editor, my readers. When I feel that way, I just have to
remember what my kids taught me: go for
it. Don’t worry about what others expect—be a little daring. A little
rebellious. It will turn out fine, and some people will even tell me it’s
pretty!
So, here’s a thanks to my kids for making me a mother.
And here’s to all the things motherhood taught me—especially how to—once in a
while—be a fearless rebel.
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| And here's my tattoo -- a rare sighting since not many people see it (on my lower back). |
Happy Mother’s Day, everyone! What about you? What’s the
craziest, most fearless thing you’ve ever done?