The Trentanelli Family: Mother's Day is Lame

Motherhood is a great honor and privilege, yet it is also synonymous with servanthood. Every day women are called upon to selflessly meet the needs of their families. Whether they are awake at night nursing a baby, spending their time and money on less-than-grateful teenagers, or preparing meals, moms continuously put others before themselves. - Charles Stanley

And how did I celebrate the ladies that “selflessly meet the needs of their families” each and every day? I wrapped up some lame presents and we had a lame party and I spent a few hours in their company.

Mother’s Day is lame.

I don’t mean lame as in impaired or disabled or otherwise defective. The celebrations we had had were wonderful and the company was even better. I mean lame in that it is fully unsatisfactory and inadequate to simply spend two or three hours each year saying thank you to the women in my life who spent roughly 290,000 hours of their lives encouraging, loving, and supporting me and mine.
My grandmother shared years of her life in (rather futile attempts) teaching me to sew, and crafting beautiful quilts, placemats, and wall hangings that warm my home (because I can barely thread a needle). As kids, she played endless games of find the thing with my sisters and me, and let us make “music” that had her windows rattling (and my grandfather boiling). Each summer Thursday, she allows us to invade her home in a ball of chaos, with (sometimes) whiny kids and (always) wet swimsuits, sending us on our way with jelly beans as we leave disaster in our wake.

My mother-in-law shared years of her life with her sons, watching tee ball games and wrestling matches. When her boys were young, she took them on to the beach, dragging their sand covered sunburned bodies back to the car, and to mini golf courses, and drive in movies, and other fun adventures. She creates adventures for my kids now, spoiling them with junk food and toys and other treats that only a grammy can get away with.

And my mother. I can’t fully list all of the ways she shared her hours with us. Beyond the monumental task of caring for three little girls who then became three challenging teenagers (and letting us live to tell the tale) she shared hundreds of thousands of hours with us. On us. Watching band concerts. Taking us ice skating. Planning vacations. Packing lunches. Visiting museums. Shopping for clothes. Listening to our problems. Giving us hugs. Showing us love.

As an adult, she does even more. Caring for the boys. Helping with the laundry. Surprising me with dinner. Still packing lunches. Still visiting museums. Still shopping for clothes (though for the grandkids). Still listening to our problems. Still giving us hugs. Still showing us love.

Mother’s Day is lame because that two or three hour celebration in no way adequately demonstrates the gratitude I feel and the love that I have for the mothers in my life.