“I love you every day. And now I will miss you every day.”

― Mitch Albom, For One More Day

It is Mother’s Day weekend and of course my mother and grandmother are on my mind. Why wouldn’t they be? They were and are two of the greatest influences on my life. The memories were numerous and led me down another rabbit hole involving my wife and daughter.

Linda Gail was never a mother in that she never actually gave birth to a child. On the other hand, anyone who knew her will tell you that she was a mother to thousands of children and young people as a teacher and a coach. Others will tell you she was a mother to many who were well into their autumn years. It was just who she was. She had to dote on someone, including…most of the time, me and Ashley.

Which brings me to my daughter, my lovely, darling Ashley. Wife, mother, nurse, administrator, caregiver to her mother. I don’t know how she juggles so many plates, but she does. She has help, a good support system. People who love her because she is easy to love.

Hard working, I’m sure some plates still find their way to the floor. I am also sure there are two things that never find their way to the floor, her daughter Miller Kate and son Nolan. Knowing Ashley, she will probably disagree with me, but she is the perfectionist that I am not.

I could talk about how loving and hard-working Justin, the husband, is. How supportive…but this is Mother’s Day weekend. I must say, however, the system would not work without him being all in with the process.

Listening to a liberal, woke, newscast, I went down another rabbit hole. A feminist liberal woman was maligning the culture wars now including a division of sorts, career moms versus tradwives. Depending on the person’s opinion and political leanings, neither is complimentary and I honestly don’t know if the knowledgeable speaker was a feminist liberal or not. I was just trying to stir up trouble.

In the aftermath, I chewed hard on what I had heard. Questions followed long after I had switched channels to Jimmy Buffett and Margaritaville.

Why do we make it so hard to be a working mom like my daughter?  Why is there a certain stigma against working moms? Why are there stigmas for women who choose careers over motherhood? Why does the normal workday run until five or later, but the mothers begin to gather at the elementary or middle school car line at two thirty or three?

We make it hard in other ways. Primarily, childcare. The national average for two children in childcare is over thirteen thousand dollars. If I made 130,000 dollars a year, which I don’t, it would account for ten percent of my income…before taxes.

Okay, maybe I should try to climb out of that rabbit hole.

Just like Ashley and Justin, both of my parents worked…most everyone I grew up with both parents worked. What has changed? Granted, we certainly placed stigmas upon other folk but I think traditional roles were viewed differently then and not at all the malignant evil social media manufactures to stir up the masses.

I knew no mothers who were a June Cleaver or Margaret Anderson. Most were more likely to climb on a spaceship ala Maureen Robinson…or onto a tractor or follow behind a plow and a mulel. Enough! (If you don’t know who my examples were, Google is your friend.)

If you are lucky enough to have your mother or the wife of your children, take time to celebrate them. A special card and flowers at the very least and make sure your children celebrate with their mothers. I know Linda cherished the hand made cards little Ashley made for her.

I don’t have the luxury of cards. Three of the four most important women in my life are gone from the physical earth. I must celebrate in other ways. Memories of fishing with my grandmother, a memory of my mother teaching me to tie a weaver’s knot in a cotton mill weave room just popped into my head, and Linda flitting around making sure everyone had the most beautiful card to go with the most beautiful flowers she was giving for Mother’s Day.

Linda got a card too, usually of puppy dogs telling her how much they loved their mom. I’m going down another rabbit hole, a comfortable and warm one.

If you enjoyed this consider Pig Trails and Rabbit Holes by Don Miller. It can be purchased in paperback or downloaded at Pig Trails and Rabbit Holes: More Musings of a Mad Southerner: Miller, Don: 9798476572046: Amazon.com: Books