“I won’t grow up…I don’t want to wear a tie… Or a serious expression… In the middle of July…” The familiar lyrics from a beloved children’s song echo through the hallway, causing me to pause. A smile spreads across my face as I quietly tiptoe toward my son’s room, where I find him engrossed in his world of Legos.
“What are you singing, my dear?” I ask, peeking in.
His eyes widen in surprise. “MOM! You weren’t supposed to hear that! It’s a secret!”
With a playful grin, I respond, “What secret? Did I really hear anything?”
His laughter is infectious, lighting up his seven-year-old face. “Oh, Mom, I can tell you’re joking!”
Every Mother’s Day, I’m greeted with a delightful assortment of gifts: fluffy scrambled eggs topped with melty American cheese, a vibrant hanging plant, a fresh pair of running shoes, and gardening gloves—of course, in the perfect shade of pink. An invigorating hike along the Wissahickon Trail, not to mention four lovingly crafted cards.
One card, made by my oldest son with a hint of reluctance, features a simple hand-drawn illustration and a playful joke. He hands it to me, leans in for a rare hug, a treat indeed from this private tween. The second card, crafted by my ten-year-old, showcases a colorful depiction of me with a wide smile, freckled face, and a cape fluttering behind me. It comes with a hug that lingers, his fingers still stained with the blue from his markers.
Two additional cards are thrust into my hands, but I take my time before looking. Their creators, aged seven and four, snuggle into my lap, heads resting on my shoulders. They’ve left babyhood behind, yet they remain my little ones. Gazing at the cards, tears well in my eyes as I read the simple, heartfelt words: “I LOVE YOU, MOM.”
It’s a Thursday morning, just before 8 AM, and I find myself seated among fellow kindergarten parents in the school chapel, anticipation buzzing in the air. I suspect the song I overheard last week will soon fill the room. As the chatter dies down, parents straighten up and fumble for their phones, eager to capture the moment as our boys enter. They’re donning a mix of hats—chef hats, fireman helmets, and even fezzes—cheerfully waving at us as they take their places on stage.
My son peers out from beneath his hard hat, and when our eyes meet, his smile radiates warmth. I wave, blow him a kiss, and the familiar lump in my throat signals that the tears will soon follow.
“I won’t grow up…I don’t want to go to school. Just to learn to be a parrot… And recite a silly rule.”
I dab at my cheeks with my fingertips, then use my hands to wipe away the tears that fall.
“If growing up means…It would be beneath my dignity to climb a tree… I’ll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up… Not me! Not I… Not me!”
My emotions swell as I watch my boy, the youngest of my four, sing with such exuberance. I know this level of enthusiasm may not last forever, as I’ve seen with his older brothers.
“I won’t grow up…I don’t want to wear a tie. And a serious expression… In the middle of July.”
I reflect on the magic of kindergarten—the innocence of childhood, the thrill of new friendships, and the joy of learning. I think about the pants that were too long last fall, now unexpectedly too short.
“And if it means I must prepare…To shoulder burdens with a worried air… I’ll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up… Not me… Not I… Not me!”
My heart aches for those who have lost so much, including Kate, who faces her first Mother’s Day without Gavin, the extraordinary boy who made her a mom.
“I won’t grow up! Not a penny will I pinch. I will never grow a mustache… Or a fraction of an inch. ‘Cause growing up is awfuller… Than all the awful things that ever were.”
I think of the parents in Aurora, CO, who will spend this Mother’s Day with an empty chair at the table, and the families from Newtown, CT, who will never celebrate again.
“I’ll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up…No sir… Not I… Not me… So there! We won’t grow up! We will never grow a day… And if someone tries to make it… We will simply run away!”
I think of Denise Richard, mourning her son Martin, and Jeff Bauman, who now faces a different kind of Mother’s Day with his loved ones in a new reality.
“And Never Land will always be…The home of beauty and joy… And neverty… I’ll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up… Not me! No sir! Not me!”
As they finish and bow, we applaud, and I quickly wipe my eyes, knowing my older sons would be embarrassed by my tears.
This Mother’s Day, I’ll savor every bite of my breakfast, breathe in the fragrance of my flowers, lace up my new running shoes, and enjoy a family hike, even with the usual complaints. Each card from my beloved children will be cherished, a reminder of the love we share in this beautiful yet unpredictable world.
In honor of mothers whose children will never grow up, and for those who cannot stand, I will embrace every moment of my Mother’s Day. I’m grateful to be surrounded by my children, painfully aware that many mothers are not as fortunate this year. Love, peace, and healing to all this Mother’s Day.
For additional insights on home insemination, check out this informative resource on infertility, and learn more about at-home solutions like the Cryobaby Insemination Kit and Intracervical Insemination.
Summary:
This heartfelt narrative reflects on the joys and emotions of Mother’s Day, intertwining personal experiences with poignant thoughts on motherhood, loss, and the innocence of childhood. Through the lens of a mother watching her children grow, it acknowledges both the beauty and the heartache that accompany this special day.