By Hollie Sessoms
It happens every Spring. The weather warms and we shed our winter
clothes, the bees start a buzzin’ and we try not to swat while appreciating their
contribution to the planet, the pollen drops and we sneeze relentlessly and
ponder how much better the world would be without noses. And then Mother’s
Day comes. The day set aside to honor those women in our lives who slaved
and sacrificed to turn us into (somewhat) functioning members of society.
I loved Mother’s Day as a child. I loved the idea of making my mom feel
special, of crafting the construction paper cards and the coupons—Good for
One Free Breakfast in Bed. I loved presenting all my crafts to her on that Sunday
and see the glint of pride in her eye that she had birthed such a talented,
creative, future artist who drew the most beautiful stick figures of mother/
daughter holding hands under a blazing yellow sun next to a bright green tree.
Now, as a mother myself, Mother’s Day feels a little strange. I mean, no one
forced me to be a mother. I chose it. And I didn’t choose it for any profound,
lofty reasons. I wasn’t trying to make anything in the world better. I just wanted
a kid and then I wanted another kid and then, for some inexplicable reason, a
third kid that I did not explicitly plan came upon the scene.
I’m not that great at being a mother. I don’t always love it. There’s really no
superior mothering skills going on over here to celebrate. At heart, I’m terribly
lazy and selfish and sometimes resent it when I have to put my kids’ interests
above my own. All the freakin’ practices and excruciatingly boring games I
have to go to. All the terribly loud sleepovers I endure and these kids want
supper, like, every single night. Sometimes all I want is a little bit of me time,
a little bit of peace and quiet so I can write an article for The Beachcomber for
the love of all that is Holy! Is that too much to ask for?!
And then sometimes I love it too much. I love how weird and funny my kids
are, how we get the same stupid jokes. How we will bond over watching The
Princess Bride and mouth the (I must say genius) dialogue together. How, even
though they’re teenagers, they still want me to tuck them in at night. How I’m
the first one they want to talk to when they have good news. Why should I be
celebrated for doing something I love?
But celebrate me they will. Maybe because their dad will insist on it. Maybe
because they feel guilty if they don’t. Or maybe because they took some time
to stop and look around and found a surprising appreciation for the woman
who waits for them in school parking lots, keeps them in clean socks, cheers
for them on the sidelines even when they’re having an off game, and yells at
them for leaving a crust of pizza on their dresser for a week because what the
heck is this a science experiment or something or do you just enjoy having
bugs in your room are we trying to invite the mice into the house and how
many times do I have to say that food is not allowed upstairs?!?!
We’ll assume it’s the latter.
18 TYBEE BEACHCOMBER | MAY 2019
Located On The Pier, RipTide
Has The Best Views on Tybee!!
Come hang out for the scenery and stay to enjoy
excellent cocktails and a full variety of options!
Recently renovated!
When it's all about the location and the vibe,
Riptide Bar is the place to be!
Tybee Insurance Agency Inc.
Serving Tybee Island since 1987
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Call Carrie Traeger
204 First Street
“Mrs. Jiggs” 912-786-5541