18th Sunday, the day of the Lord in the year 2018.
This journal writing has brought to light something very disturbing, 24 hours is not very long. Worse, we don’t get much done by the way of achieving life’s milestones. As I try to recollect the past 24 hours, sieving through chores, incidents and living life, nothing much has been retained. Considering I am 41 years old and have lived the better part of my life trying to tick my to-do list, I am disappointed.
While I was high on my dopamine getting all my jobs done, and ticking them off the list, there wasn’t much room for realization. No awareness of the self as I rushed to do laundry, homework assignments for my kids, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Yes, I was doing my children’s projects, I know I’m just ‘helping’ but it sure feels like I am in school. Sometimes I feel as if homework assignments and projects are a parent’s Karma. All the half a$$%^ attempts that I put in school has come back with a vengeance.
I now have the answer to the question I always posed to my mum as I did algebra, “When will I ever have use for this mum?”
Now, you will have a use for them, now, as you sit down with your child getting them through their homework. As you cut up the pizza that you serve your kids for lunch and explain to them how Maths solves everyday problems, is exactly the time when you will need to remember fractions.
As I stand in my mom’s shoes and mouth the very words I had rolled my eyes at, I stand humbled.
As I stare into the eyes of my son as he moans, “This is so dumb mum! I rather do a million things besides times tables.”
I am reminded that life is very short but long enough to make you come a full circle. As I sigh and hug my son and tell him that I understand his frustrations having felt it myself, and urge him to trudge on, “You’ll thank me one day son, as I did my mom.”
So this journal entry is a tribute to my mum, a salutation for all her hard work, her perseverance against great odds, a spunky irritable me at 9 must have been nothing short of torture. Motherhood can be a thankless job, where you slave on amidst hostility from the very souls whose life you are trying to improve.
I know what she must have felt as she stood there being brandished as heartless, mean and a punisher for trying to get me to do an extra page of Maths, for those are the very things my son accuses me of. Karma, there is no escaping it and experiencing it makes me so ashamed but so honored to have a mother who cared enough to overlook the hostility and still soldier on.
For after an hour of hostile banter I give up and allow my son to run off into the garden to enjoy his time in the sun. My mother never did, so today despite being a dyslexic I am an author, and I passed my 10th maths exam with a decent percentage.
Thanks, mum, today I realize how strong and noble you truly are. How, it takes a lot more than love to be a good mother, it takes courage to brave the anger of a rebellious teenager and still do what needs to be done. Thanks mum for being so strong, to quote my son’s favorite song, ‘superman’s got nothing on you Ma!’