A Mother’s Day Reflection: From a Mom Who Didn’t Want Children

Sharpening the Heart…

My children, born of me and born to me, celebrating me and my accomplishments as Dr. Hooks.

I’ve celebrated Mother’s Day for years. As a teenager, my sister and I scrambled to save money to buy our mother a gift and take her to dinner. One of our favorite places to eat was Charlie Brown’s Steakhouse –– when there was all you could eat shrimp. I can’t imagine ever cooking her a meal because then I had a disdain for the kitchen. Not that I love the kitchen now, but I learned to master a few dishes, cook healthy meals and feed my family. But cooking, specifically me cooking, is another blog post. Sometimes my sister and I would pool our money together to buy flowers, a dress, or even a doll for my mother. My mother loved dolls because she didn’t grow up with beautiful black dolls as a child.

When I became a mother, my sister and I continued to celebrate my mother. But the celebration also included me as a mother. Every year, my daughters brought home a gift made in the classroom from candleholders, a pillow with handprints to framed pictures and handmade Mother’s Day cards. When they were old enough to save money, the gifts became more elaborate and reflected how much they understood my lifestyle. For example, I am a diary-keeper; therefore diaries, journals, and notebooks of all shapes and sizes were the standard Mother’s Day gift. I filled them all. Now as young adults, they introduce me to new things via of a gift. Like Lush products, a logo for my blog, and cake pops. However, this year marks twenty-five years of being celebrated as a mother, and it’s the first year I fell in love with motherhood, seeing myself as the matriarch, the cornerstone of our family.

In the Beginning

Here’s the deal, I did not want to get married and have children. However, God’s plan was not my plan. Now, I’m married for the second time, and I find myself happily in the kitchen cooking meals for my family—my biological children and those blended into my family. My daughters who have known me all their life say things like, “MOM you’re in the kitchen” Mom this taste good.”

My daughters giving me some love on the couch on Mother’s Day.

Even at a family celebration,my former husband said, “You cook now.”

On this particular Mother’s Day, I wanted to cook. We had two more celebrations the following week, and home is where I wanted to be. And it was in the kitchen on Mother’s Day that I realized I loved motherhood for several reasons.
1. My eldest daughter reminds me I am her hero because I have earned the highest degree.
2. My youngest daughter brags to her friends that her mother holds a Ph.D. and takes no crap in the classroom or anywhere else.
1. Both daughters remind me I can take care of a fifteen-year-old because God wouldn’t give me more than I can bear. Additionally, I raised the two of them.
2. My fifteen-year-old thanks me for letting her into my world: eyebrow waxing, dressy yet not dressy clothes, frozen yogurt, Panera, Lo Mein and taking risks.
3. My son calls me Mama A and doesn’t feel shy to ask as many questions as possible.
4. All of them look to me for some guidance knowing they are free to take or leave what I say.

I could add more, but the gist of the list propels my falling in love with motherhood on Mother’s Day. I stood in the kitchen whipping up a 30-minute meal. One daughter comes in and helps make meatballs another takes over the sautéeing of vegetables. Someone sets the table, and I realize that in a few years there will be in-laws, grandkids, and probably someone’s pet. They will come to my home and rest from their world of busyness. We will watch movies. We will pay Catan. We will practice yoga. We will worship, laugh, eat, and love each other. They will know that I love them unconditionally and with all the love God has poured into me, I too will pour into them.