That’s what I had yesterday. Disclaimers first. I did not receive flowers or gifts, go out to brunch or see my kids, all of which I would enjoy tremendously. I applied a third coat of drywall mud to my re done laundry room. I went to the big box store for a new dryer vent and Bliss Blue exterior semi gloss paint for the door. In the outer ways it was a pretty run of the mill day. Both my raised kids called. We usually talk on the weekends anyway. DD left a phone msg on Saturday.
*side bar*(Buster called this am to wish me “Happy Mothers Day again”. I momentarily swooned.)
What made it the BEST EVER was that I was feeling more at home in my particular body, emotions and mind, my particular manifestation of life. I love celebrating anything ~ a brilliant idea, a new word, a smile, with dance and song. It was Sunday so my drywall work was accompanied by the local blue grass radio show, so there were also fancy footwork and shimmies.
Looking at and expressing my residual feelings around MD freed up the energy that I’d been bottling ~ out of a sense of shame for letting myself be hurt/wounded. I still see remnants of a puritanical view of the holiday. But I’m looking at changing that too.
I’m looking at not holding back. Kind of a “Take Back the Night Mothers Day” experience for me. Robin Westerbrook’s story of missing her mama helped. That and receiving the most inclusive Mothers Day wishes from a few other first mothers clued me into the idea that I contribute to what Mothers Day is for everyone. And the first thing I heard when I set up my boom box at the worksite was the song I’d been singing to DD in my dreams.
singout 