A Mother’s Story
Mother’s Day is coming up, and one of the best ways we know of to celebrate motherhood is the annual performance of My Mother’s Story: The Extraordinary Lives of Ordinary Women. Twenty local actresses share a spoken word collage of their mothers’ stories, inviting each of us to better understand our own stories and our life as a mother today.
Mama Renew and Babyvibe are proud to offer a contest to win a pair of tickets to this year’s performance of My Mother’s Story on Mother’s Day, Sunday, May 10th. To win, enter your comment in response to our question below.
Looking for more Mother’s Day gift ideas?
We have compiled a special collection of unique opportunities to nurture you. Take a look!
***************
Win 2 Tickets for My Mother’s Story
Bring your mother, your grandmother, a sister or friend.
To enter, share a bit of your own story below – your own life as mother or that of your mother or grandmother.
It could be funny, joyous or sad, a challenge or a victory, or simply a tiny window into the daily life of motherhood – in your time or theirs.
click here to enter the contest
Contest Deadline is midnight, Tuesday, April 5th.
[...] inspired by a poem shared with us by Jana Buhlman in her comment on one of our posts back in May. Below is an [...]
my father committed suicide when i was two leaving my mom a young widow with two babies.
she is my proof that people survive. and thrive. she found her way to make it through. to live her life boldly, shamelessly, and with loads of love and laughter.
[Reply]
you took my hand and began the dance
I was asleep. Asleep when I conceived of you.
Asleep when I challenged myself to choice.
Sleeping in my critique of want and need, alone and engagement.
These circling dichotomies are real for me now,
but as I pondered your existence they lay dormant,
deep below the surface,
rooting their way back to someone I used to be.
I sat firm in my choice. I wanted to be a mother.
I did not want to have a child.
How could I possibly possess another human being?
I knew what I had to offer, even from within my slumber.
My experience and voracity were things that I knew I could share.
So I leapt. I stepped. I chose. I did.
And you were there right away.
Too early for the test but I took it anyway.
And it was confirmed, twice.
The little sticks would be the voice of your existence
that I would hand to my mother and sister.
Their screams of excitement were gifts that they gave me
not-so-long after they opened each parcel,
unsuspecting of the contents. Oh My God Jana . . .
I heard you within me but I continued to doze.
You moved early and I was certain of what I felt.
You grew. You rooted. I took notice.
But in my slumber I did not revel. I did not root myself.
I did not reach down and grab ahold of you
so that we could begin to dance together.
I liked how my body felt as it carried you.
Calm. Assured. Sexy.
I wanted to be one of those women at folkfest
who let you absorb the music through the casing of my naked belly.
I wanted to Be tall on my grassy blanket
and pull off my shirt to stand with my hands on my expanded hips, full breasts gathered in some glorious tank bra,
loose cotton pants sitting under your burrowing, upside-down head.
But I never did as such. I remained in my slumber.
It is only as I look back that I can embrace my mother’s words.
I loved being pregnant.
She had said that to me so many times.
But it only meant something after you were born and I woke up.
I wish I could have redefined her words.
Given them my own meaning. Said them to myself.
Because I loved your presence in my body
only after you were no longer there.
You announced your impending arrival with a great fatigue,
but I did not rest.
If only I would have sat and communed.
Twirled you around to a simple tune.
Shared the groove that I later embraced – one day later –
as the second induction kicked in.
The circling of my hips, held up by my hands
as I could not at folkfest.
I spoke from my slumber. The deep and easy moan
outed by so many other women. It felt good to release.
I watched you descend through me into your own world.
And now we step together. Trip and fall.
Hold each other’s hand.
Down the stairs and back up again.
So let’s dance, wee girl. Let’s step out. Step firmly.
Let’s Be to each other and to ourselves.
Let me show you how, at the same time that I show myself.
[Reply]
There are three moms whose lives I seek to emulate: my mom, my aunt and my grandma. These women understood the importance of family and a simpler, more organic life. Home baked cookies and pies, ample time for tea and a chat, painstaking efforts to knit and sew our favourite childhood clothes, orchestrating large family picnics in the park and camping trips during holidays, and most importantly, a real grounded sense for what mattered in life. They, of course, are mother, daughter and sister, and each of their lives evolved very differently, but the essense of who they are has remained. My grandmother passed away over 5 years ago now, and sadly, was not around to meet my children and see me become a mother. My mom and aunt have been with me on my latest journey and through challenging times from the birth of our premature twin boys to one son’s diagnosis with juvenile diabetes, they have taught me to find the strength within myself, and that the saying”it takes a village to raise a child” is true in so many ways.
[Reply]
My mother lost her mother when my mother was 3 years old. My grandmother died in childbirth having my aunt (my mother’s sister). Both my grandmother and grandfather were deaf and my grandfather was left to raise my mother (3) and my aunt (newly born). Unfortunately, my grandfather contracted Polio at this time and was in and out of the hospital often. He was eventually in a wheelchair and my mother’s godmother and her husband cared for my mother, my aunt and my grandfather. I often wonder about what life was like for my grandparents both my maternal grandmother and the woman I call my grandmother today. What strength they both had. I also often think of my mother and how courageous she was. She became a mother to my brothers and I without guidance or support. How courageous she was as well. I hope that I have half the courage the woman before me had as I raise my sons.
[Reply]
Thank you so much for sharing these stories of your mothers and grandmothers. This is exactly what we’re doing at My Mother’s Story (www.mymothersstory.org). Many people find it hard to speak of their mothers as anything other than saints or demons and that’s not fair to them or to us. We’re all just women doing our best.
[Reply]
My grandmother passed away a few years ago, and I find that as the years go on, I think of her more often. Her birthday just passed a few days ago and I found myself reminiscing about her sass and stubborness. She was a feisty one, and always made us laugh. She taught myself and my three sisters how to be nasty card-players, and how to speak out an opinion of our own!! It’s no wonder my own mother is so quirky and funny. She has a wacky sense of humour that is all her own, and yet her easy, laid back attitude towards life stands in sharp contrast to her own mother. I’ve often been told that I am just like my mom; my laid back attitude and easy going nature reflect hers. When I hear that, I feel proud while also laughing at the fact that I know I can be as subborn as a goat, just like my grandmother!! My own two girls are lovely – both strong willed, but bursting with kisses and snuggles for those they love. It’s breathtaking to see the generations pass – to witness the changes and notice the similarities. My girls, especially my little Linden, remind me of my grandmother’s determined nature, and I feel thankful that I can see her reflection three generations down the family line. I love you, Grandma!
[Reply]
My mother lost her own mother when she was sixteen. She recalls coming home four days after a ceasarean section and cooking my father’s favorite dinner that night while holding me in one arm. She gave everything to be a good wife and mother, but despite outward appearances, even mothers are only human. I almost lost her when I was six months old.
What a gift this year to see my mother with my own six month old daughter! And my quiet hope; that if my baby girl comes to be a mother one day, her joy will grow free of suffering.
[Reply]
My paternal grandmother spent years teaching English to new immigrants, then went back to school in the late 1960s, at age 50 (almost unheard of then!) to obtain her teaching degree. She used to love to tell the story of how she went to University at the same time as her son (my Dad), and he would be so embarrassed when she’d come into the student union building and “catch” him smoking and playing cards with his friends. I’m proud to have such a strong, brave woman in my background!
[Reply]
admin Reply:
April 28th, 2009 at 8:41 AM
It is so important to preserve these stories – I too draw great strength from the stories of the women in my family.
[Reply]
When my maternal grandma Gertrude was a child she lived in a sod house in rural North Dakota. Her family was homesteading, having come across from Iowa in a covered wagon just a year or so before she was born. Before she died she wrote many of her childhood memories down. She wrote:
[Reply]