On the day before Mother’s Day, I usually post about the origins of the holiday in the 1870s, when Boston reformer Julia Ward Howe decided she would create a “Mothers’ Day” to bring women together to end war. Tonight, though, I have just come from the wedding of our fabulous producer for the Now & Then podcast, where almost the whole team gathered to celebrate, and am thinking about family and how often it has nothing to do with blood and everything to do with chance and affinity.
Thank you, Heather. Happy Mother’s Day to you. I never had a « belly born » child, but I mothered a generation of public school children in NYC from 1974-2010. A great life and a great career. Thank you for mentioning your « mothers ».
I was a late in life baby. My mother who had to work left my upbringing to my stepsister who was ten years older than me. "Dodee" because I could pronounce "Joyce" would wheel me around the neighborhood, showing off my long red curls to everyone she encountered. Later she would create art project as presents for me. She styled my hair in a "D.A." I would experiment with her perfume bottle creating new fragrances, much to her dismay. Her "HiFI" record player was shared with me and we listened to Elvis singing "You Ain't Nothin' But A Hound Dog" for hours on end. She was always coming to my defense when my mother would become angry at me. Tensions with my mother drove her to move to Southern California to become a key punch operator. Thank you Joyce, my mother.
That was just a wonderful read. Thank you and Happy Mother's Day to all the Mothers out there whether you are a mother to your children or to someone else's.
During my years working at all levels of public school, I met many women (mothers) who should never have been allowed around young children. Every year on Mother’s Day, I think of these women and how some do great harm to their offspring. Then there are those who provide motherly love to needy, damaged little souls and to those they meet by “chance and affinity.” Thank you for highlighting those who care and guide without an agenda.
Motherhood comes in so many forms and expressions, one often neglects to recognize our “mothers” until after their influence in our lives survives their anatomical existence. My biological mother died unexpectedly when I was 16. I never had the opportunity to show her how much I truly loved her, nor to ask for her forgiveness having lost her amid my most rebellious teenage years.
An only child living alone (my father had left us years before), surrogate mothers immediately filled in, starting with my mother’s sisters, who took turns imperceptibly coaching me wisely about womanhood and life.
As I grew older and left my hometown, other elderly women (neighbors, coworkers, friends’ mothers, my mother-in-law) stepped in, successfully guiding me throughout the difficult phases of what otherwise could have become a troubled life.
Now a happily retired elder myself, soon to be getting married to a wonderful man with whom I plan to enjoy a golden age, like Heather, I am grateful for and celebrate the women who showered me with the boundless, overflowing motherly love that I, in turn, have since bestowed upon the adoptive daughters who have richly blessed and now fulfill my existence…
I was never a "real" mother, "only" a stepmother. That was pointed out to me many times under many circumstances and it bothered me a lot. I talked about it once with my friend George and he said, "For heavens' sake, Louanne! You mother everyone you know!"
Beautiful story, Heather. I to have a lot of “mothers” but, ironically, of my mother, all my aunts, grandmothers, the one I think about on this day is the lady that actually raised me. The lady that actually molded me to what I am, what I became. That lady was our maid, Jennie Warren. A black lady whose husband, Frank, worked for my dad on the farm.
Every morning, when I was young, in school, she would see to it I had breakfast and was well dressed for school. When I got home, she saw to it there was something to snack on, my homework was done, then afterwards made sure baths were done and in bed on time.
She always had stories to tell. About slavery, the life on the farm during the slavery times, and all. She was a walking history lesson to me.
But, on this Mother’s Day of 2023 I want to wish all the ladies, and you, a very happy, safe, and most of all enjoyable day. You ladies definitely deserve it!
In todays Reuters, a factoid; 88% of women who bore children consider motherhood to have been the most important role of their lives. My mom, about to turn 95, raised 5 of her own and a neighborhoods worth of friends. She is at the very top of the pinnacle in the pantheon of my heroes.
Heather, many of your memories reflect the women in my life, including "Mother Ann" Fernald on Islesford.
My grandmother, at 93 and living in her home state of Florida, invited her pastor to her home for coffee and cake. A perfectionist at everything she put her mind to, she had laid out a spread. She couldn't drive anymore due to leg issues. During the course of their conversation (the pastor told this at her funeral), she said to him, "You know, Pastor, I think I'm ready to die." "Why, Bessie?" You can watch the Sunday service on TV!" "That's got nothing to do with it," she said. "I can't drive to my Bridge game." A couple of weeks later, she was gone, but never forgotten.
Thank you, Heather. Happy Mother’s Day to you. I never had a « belly born » child, but I mothered a generation of public school children in NYC from 1974-2010. A great life and a great career. Thank you for mentioning your « mothers ».
A beautiful memory and a great read. Thanks.
I was a late in life baby. My mother who had to work left my upbringing to my stepsister who was ten years older than me. "Dodee" because I could pronounce "Joyce" would wheel me around the neighborhood, showing off my long red curls to everyone she encountered. Later she would create art project as presents for me. She styled my hair in a "D.A." I would experiment with her perfume bottle creating new fragrances, much to her dismay. Her "HiFI" record player was shared with me and we listened to Elvis singing "You Ain't Nothin' But A Hound Dog" for hours on end. She was always coming to my defense when my mother would become angry at me. Tensions with my mother drove her to move to Southern California to become a key punch operator. Thank you Joyce, my mother.
That was just a wonderful read. Thank you and Happy Mother's Day to all the Mothers out there whether you are a mother to your children or to someone else's.
During my years working at all levels of public school, I met many women (mothers) who should never have been allowed around young children. Every year on Mother’s Day, I think of these women and how some do great harm to their offspring. Then there are those who provide motherly love to needy, damaged little souls and to those they meet by “chance and affinity.” Thank you for highlighting those who care and guide without an agenda.
Motherhood comes in so many forms and expressions, one often neglects to recognize our “mothers” until after their influence in our lives survives their anatomical existence. My biological mother died unexpectedly when I was 16. I never had the opportunity to show her how much I truly loved her, nor to ask for her forgiveness having lost her amid my most rebellious teenage years.
An only child living alone (my father had left us years before), surrogate mothers immediately filled in, starting with my mother’s sisters, who took turns imperceptibly coaching me wisely about womanhood and life.
As I grew older and left my hometown, other elderly women (neighbors, coworkers, friends’ mothers, my mother-in-law) stepped in, successfully guiding me throughout the difficult phases of what otherwise could have become a troubled life.
Now a happily retired elder myself, soon to be getting married to a wonderful man with whom I plan to enjoy a golden age, like Heather, I am grateful for and celebrate the women who showered me with the boundless, overflowing motherly love that I, in turn, have since bestowed upon the adoptive daughters who have richly blessed and now fulfill my existence…
Thank you for this beautiful story and for your message today — there are many kinds of mothering done by many kinds of people.
I was never a "real" mother, "only" a stepmother. That was pointed out to me many times under many circumstances and it bothered me a lot. I talked about it once with my friend George and he said, "For heavens' sake, Louanne! You mother everyone you know!"
Mother is a verb.
Beautiful story, Heather. I to have a lot of “mothers” but, ironically, of my mother, all my aunts, grandmothers, the one I think about on this day is the lady that actually raised me. The lady that actually molded me to what I am, what I became. That lady was our maid, Jennie Warren. A black lady whose husband, Frank, worked for my dad on the farm.
Every morning, when I was young, in school, she would see to it I had breakfast and was well dressed for school. When I got home, she saw to it there was something to snack on, my homework was done, then afterwards made sure baths were done and in bed on time.
She always had stories to tell. About slavery, the life on the farm during the slavery times, and all. She was a walking history lesson to me.
But, on this Mother’s Day of 2023 I want to wish all the ladies, and you, a very happy, safe, and most of all enjoyable day. You ladies definitely deserve it!
In todays Reuters, a factoid; 88% of women who bore children consider motherhood to have been the most important role of their lives. My mom, about to turn 95, raised 5 of her own and a neighborhoods worth of friends. She is at the very top of the pinnacle in the pantheon of my heroes.
Heather, many of your memories reflect the women in my life, including "Mother Ann" Fernald on Islesford.
My grandmother, at 93 and living in her home state of Florida, invited her pastor to her home for coffee and cake. A perfectionist at everything she put her mind to, she had laid out a spread. She couldn't drive anymore due to leg issues. During the course of their conversation (the pastor told this at her funeral), she said to him, "You know, Pastor, I think I'm ready to die." "Why, Bessie?" You can watch the Sunday service on TV!" "That's got nothing to do with it," she said. "I can't drive to my Bridge game." A couple of weeks later, she was gone, but never forgotten.
Sally epitomizes the saying “May her memory be a blessing.” Thank you for sharing that blessing with us. Happy Mother’s Day.
Happy Mother’s Day, Heather!
Happy Mothers' Day all. I am visiting with friends who are voting today here in Bremen, Germany. What a befitting activity on Mothers' Day.
What a woman. You have her look about you. A stunningly beautiful family too
Thank you for this lovely rememberance. Being a mother is a sacred choice and is not limited to 2 legged children or children born to us.