I've had oodles of opportunities to reflect on mothering over the last couple weeks. I have considered my own mother, my grandmothers, my mother-in-law, my daughter as a mother, my wonderful Auntie Madge and my own mothering. The mothers in my family have been strong and brave for generations behind me, and I carry not only their strength, but their stories, in my body. I am glad to know these stories and to have my life intertwined with their lives. I am proud of that heritage.
I think, because I am a person who people assume hasn't grown all the way up, I get mothered a lot. I welcome this behavior in some, and in others I find it maddening. I suspect motherly types are tipped off by my absolute inability to wear grown-up-lady shoes, or have my hair cut in a way that says ADULT. And here's the paradoxical part of this little scenario: I also mother people. Some welcome it; and some, I am sure, find it maddening.
I am also very selective about the people I allow to mother me, and I don't think it has anything to do with prideful behavior. There are women in my life who could slap me down for something I did and I would learn a lesson. And there are women I would want to slap back. Two of the women I appreciate most, Chris Thomson (my best friend's mom) and Evangelist Boone (Christ Gospel Church/Whitesboro, New Jersey) are also spiritual mothers--they have both directed me in the ways of God and corrected me when I was wrong. I love them for their correction. They are women who are submitted to God in their own lives and tend not to coddle me. I am not a person who requires coddling, just some good old-fashioned butt whuppin' once in awhile.
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