Wound up late to Mass anyway. Noon Mass. Noon Mass on a non-school day. Noon Mass on a non-school day when we were all up by 8:30 am and breakfast was oatmeal and eggs. Nothing like a lot of time to make one late. My father's voice in my head always says this in these situations. Walked into Mass as Father was starting his homily. Nothing like missing the entire Liturgy of the Word. Sigh.
I love his homilies. They are always relevant to my life. They are always educational and they are always thought provoking. Unfortunately my 22 month old and 4 year old (whose birthday is today) weren't so enthralled with Father's words of wisdom. The baby needed to chime in every once in a while but at least he waited until the Consecration to get good and irritated.
Father was speaking about Mary, of course. He spoke about why we should be devoted to Mary. Jesus was devoted to her and we are striving to be like Jesus in all things. Simple. To the point and accurate. He also mentioned his own mother. Now I know a couple of things about this woman that make me want to meet her anyway. Just having a son who is a priest, a really wonderful, devout and holy priest, is reason enough.
The first reason I decided that I have to meet her at some point is that when referring to her, Father calls her Mother. Sometimes, in relating a story he says, "Mom." But when he is referring to her in conversation he is so respectful of her and she is Mother. I read something the other day that said we have stripped mothers of their respectful standing by making it cute to be Mommy. That statement took me back to my son's first pediatricians appointment. The nurses all called me Mom. It took me a couple of times to realize that not only were they calling ME mom but they called every woman there mom. I was still new to this whole mom thing you see. I couldn't fathom the little bundle in my arms calling me mom, much less some overworked and frazzled nurse lumbering down the hall in front of me turning as she thrust the chart in the holder and saying, "Have a seat in there mom. Doc will be here soon." Me?? Mom?? You were just holding my chart. It has my name on it. You just yelled it across a waiting room of screaming kids. My name is not MOM. Ha ha. The joke is on me. Read on.
Back to Mass. We refer to our Blessed Mother as Mother. Not our Holy Mommy. She commands and deserves respect. The Queen Mum. Just not the same image. Sometimes we need to be titled and addressed properly.
With my 22 month old things couldn't be further from his mind than what to call me. I do not, it seems, have a name or title at all. When I put him to bed (for the 1,000th time) and tell him, "Do not get up again. Do you understand me?" He says sweetly, "Ess, Daaa." I AM NOT DADDY!!! My name is MOMMY. I never thought this would bother me. I was finally able to verbalize my irritation with this today when he asked, for the millionth time, to nurse. I was sitting on the floor and so was at his eye level. I said, "Listen. There are some things we need to get straight. This is a give and take relationship. Right now I am doing all the giving and you are doing all the taking. This needs to change."
What I meant was, for the record, that I feel used. I am a drive thru, a pit stop and a punching bag. When you need a place for comfort and resting you can come to moms. Nope. Not this kid. He doesn't want to be loved and cuddled. He wants to MOVE. Nothing sweeter than your baby's little voice mewing,"Ma ma!" Not this kid. He'll say DA! all day long. Twice I have heard Mama from him and they were clear attempts at manipulation. Nothing loving and sweet about it folks.
So I have to turn to Our Mother and say to her, "I do not know what to do for this child. I do not want to be so far from him. Please help me learn to love him as he needs to be loved."
I was surprised to hear myself attempting to explain to this little imp my need for him to just love me. Just sit on my lap. Just lie in my arms. Let me comfort you. Let me be your mother. Do you know what happened? He fell onto me and hugged my neck and we rocked back and forth. My arms holding him and his little toes pushing us to and fro as I sat on the floor. It was a sweet moment. And I need many more with him.
Thank you Blessed Mother. For this moment I am grateful. For the ability to lead hearts closer to your son I am in awe.
And we call her Mother. Blessed Mother.
And the picture of him captures it all.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful!
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