Happy Mother’s Day! This time of year I always think about how far I’ve come as a mom, and I think about my mom as well. My mother was a wonderful woman and writer, and she wrote a column for our local paper. Last year, I remembered her by sharing one of her articles about being a mom, and this year I’d like to do the same.

I found this article about the perks of being a parent, especially in the spring, appropriate. And I have added a few more of my own at the end.

This is the season of kites and bubbles — all in all, not a bad time of year to be on a first-name basis with some small fry.

In winter, even the most pleasant and cheerful child can be a — pain.  All those buttons and zippers, boots, scarves, and gloves.  All those runny noses.  All of the things that small children want to do — like run wildly and shout and climb on things — become increasingly intolerable indoors, day after dreary day.

The small child wants to like winter, but it is really too much for him. Snowmen are really hard to build, all things considered, and sledding is a wet and tiring business.  It is certainly of dubious fun value for the parents who end up pulling the sleds and pushing the snowballs.

But spring — ah, spring pleasures are simple. A 15-month-old can handle dandelion-blowing, puddle-splashing, and flower-sniffing.  And it isn’t long before he can move right on to bubbles, kites, pinwheels, a riding toy of some sort.  The days aren’t long enough or balmy enough to hold it all: Paper airplanes. Balloons.  Soap boats.  Maple seed whirlies.  Swings. Teeter-totters.  Sand boxes and dump trucks.  Marbles.

Spring diversions seem especially hilarious for parents who put childhood well behind them before they got into the child-raising business themselves.  Somehow it’s a little more fun to rediscover the delight of folding paper into an airplane and making it fly if you have, in fact, forgotten how to do it.

There’s no good reason that a genuine grown-up couldn’t saunter down to the drug store and buy a Snoopy Delta-wing kite and one lime-green jar of bubbles for themselves if they wanted to.  You could always do a reverse of the drugstore scene in “Summer of 42” and throw in some hardcore adult items to distract the clerk.  “Yeah, gimme a pint of Jack Daniels, some single-edge razors, a pack of unfiltered Camels, a Playboy and — .”  You point at the counter display of novelties.

“Oh certainly, sir,” the clerk croons. “Oops, no price.  Mabel, I need a price on the Mickey Mouse Magic Bubble Wand. It’s for the man in Aisle 3…”

A small, preferably smiling child just makes the whole transaction a little easier.  A little more likely, certainly.  The same child makes it socially acceptable to visit the zoo.  The playground.  The kids’ section of the library.

For many of today’s parents, it’s been a long while between rides down the big slide.  On the whole, the economists and psychologists seem to think this is a good thing.  In our 30s and 40s, we’re not only better able to buy Oshkosh, Fisher-Price and Gerry, we are also — the surveys insist — more patient, more “settled,” more diligent about such parental chores as insurance-buying and putting little caps on all of the electrical outlets.

The experts, though, tend to gloss over what a bumpy transition parenthood can be for these selfsame people, who, after all, have spent 10 or 15 years acquiring a taste for avocados and fine wines, sleeping late and going out on impulse.  A person who has spent their 20s buying white couches and endless (unscratched and correctly sleeved) records will probably not find the realities of parenthood in their 30s or 40s one long, uproarious chuckle.

No matter what anybody tells you, it’s simply not all that easy to get used to starting the day watching Bozo’s buckets instead of “The Today Show.”

You do not automatically — or ever — lose a desire for eight unbroken hours of sleep.

And you don’t forget the days when you chose your favorite restaurants by criteria other than whether or not they gave you a crayon with your placemat.

Still, it is these parents — the ones who are simultaneously coping with their first children and first gray hair — who seem to enjoy the fringes the most.  Like rediscovering the culinary pleasures of graham crackers and milk.  PBJs. Popsicles.

In spring, the fringes pile up in a glorious fashion.  There is something about going out on these first warm days, coatless and hatless, that returns all of us to our skinned-knee past.  Getting a kite aloft, catching three bubbles on a wand — for the briefest, most shimmering of moments, listening to the satisfying sound of skate wheels against sidewalk: It’s a chance to roll back the odometer.

In spring, we get to laugh the giddy laugh of the child again.  It’s a dizzying sensation.  On a walk, jumping puddles, it’s hard to tell which reflection is which.

While being a parent isn’t always easy or fun, I agree with my mom that there are a lot of wonderful things parents get to enjoy. A few more of my favorite fun parent things:

• Playing board games and card games
• Watching Disney movies – with popcorn of course
• Reading children’s books, and reading every day
• Putting together puzzles
• Being silly and playful
• Building things with Legos and Magnatiles
• Hanging out and playing at the mall
• Watching planes fly above our house and guessing what they are

I love that Buddy gives me an excuse to work less and play more. I’m so grateful that I get to be Buddy’s mom! What are your favorite childhood experiences to revisit? Please share your ideas in the comment section.

In honor of Mother’s Day, I want to spend this week reflecting on life as a mom. Last year, I made a list of things I love about being a mom. When I reread it this year, it still is all so true. Being a mom isn’t easy, but most of the time it’s great!

This year, I want to share an article written by my mother in August 1989. She had a weekly column in our local newspaper, and she often wrote about my sister and me. Her column is an inspiration for this blog, and I often think about her as I write. Here are her lessons from motherhood – and I’ve added some more of my own at the end.

Seven years ago this week, I trooped around the State Fair, great with child.  Like all parents-to-be, I zeroed in on babies and small children through some instinctive radar.  It’s kind of like when you get a new car and all of a sudden you can spot the same model zooming past at 70 mph three lanes away.

When you’re a non-parent someplace like the fair, you half-expect there must be a booth somewhere where you can rent-a-kid, because they’re everywhere: sticky, crying, squirming, spilling, whining, running, shrieking. Occasionally, rarely, you might see a sweetly sleeping tyke on someone’s shoulder, and you think, “that’s the kind I’ll have.”

Right.

A week past my due date, it was a little late for second thoughts.  But I remember feeling a little alarmed by it all.  For some reason, I kept thinking back to all the times I babysat and how wonderful it was when the parents got home.

Since summer is filled with birthdays at my house, it is a time of taking stock.  No one has to tell me I’ve gotten older; as for better — well, it depends.

Seven years ago, I was certainly better read.  I saw more movies and plays. I cooked more, I wrote more letters, and otherwise did a better job keeping up my end of a friendship.

All in all, over the last seven years, I seem to have lost ground in a lot of ways.  We still get a newsmagazine but I can’t recall the last time I read it cover to cover. Seven years ago, I guess.

Still, I have to admit there are some things I’ve learned in the last seven years:

• I now know what to do if I come across a crayon on a floor: leave it there.  For if you put it in a pocket, and it goes into a dryer, your laundry will never be the same.  Few things are forever, but melted crayon is one of them.
• You can toilet-train using a drink-and-wet doll and piles of gaily wrapped presents and bribes and sweets.  Or you can shrug and wait until the child begs for Snoopy pants and get pretty much the same results.
• Goldfish are boring, cannot be boarded anywhere and are not considered by small children to be a substitute for a “real” pet anyway.
• How to wash a kid’s hair without getting any water in the eyes.  I promise.
• Seven different Sarahs, nine different Kates, and six variations of Kirsten, and how to keep them all straight.  Most of the time.
•  Apple juice may look like it won’t stain but it will.  Trust me.
• “Baby Beluga” and the rest of the Raffi repertoire.
•  “Goodnight Moon” without even having to have the light on. ‘
• To remember to call it “The California Raisins Song” instead of “Heard it Through the Grapevine.”
• Not to try to explain to gas station people that the reason there’s silky nightgowns and lingerie in the backseat is because your toddler uses it as a lovey.
• How to receive a bouquet of dandelions and birthday presents crafted of Kleenex graciously.
• How to pack a lunch in 90 seconds or less.
• Why it is a good idea to buy slip-on shoes even after the child knows how to tie her shoes herself.
• How to make an animal out of pancake batter, playdough out of flour and a Barbie island hut out of Easter grass and an old infant seat.
• How to leave a crying child and go to work and not cry yourself.
• How to work with a child on the lap, under foot, across the table, or on the other end of the phone.
• When to stay home and watch “Willie Wonka” with a sick child, three times in a row.
• Where the Dr. Seuss books are at the library.
• How to sew on a Brownie patch, which is only a little bit easier than sewing on a tin can.
• The answer to the riddle “What can you use to brush your teeth, keep the rain off your head, and unlock a door?” (A toothbrush, umbrella and key, dummy). 

OK, so I no longer know who heads the opposition party in Canada.  I’ve forgotten how to fold a crepe, and I haven’t been to the opening night of a play in years.

But in the last seven years, I’ve learned how patient I can be, and how impatient too.  I can do more at one time and accomplish less in 24 hours than I would have ever thought possible.  I also care more about some things, like life in the year 2020, than I did before.

As I deftly blew up and tied off a dozen balloons for my daughter’s birthday, I thought how much I’ve learned.  And with just a wince, how much — from how to close a stroller one-handed to where to change a diaper at the fair — I no longer need to know.

Considering her list was written almost 30 years ago, so much of it is true for my motherhood experience as well. A few more from my own personal list:

• How to find enough energy to get through middle of the night crisises – a kid covered in vomit, a kid screaming from a nightmare, or a kid who is too congested to sleep.
• How to leave work at 4:00 when you’d rather work until 5:30.
• The names of Thomas and all of his friends, and lots of other things about trains.
• How to tell the difference between a backhoe and a front loader.
• The importance of carrying a spare diaper, wipes, and a disposable changing mat in my purse for after school errands.
• How to keep a toddler entertained on a long road trip or plane ride.
• That singing a song can help increase a child’s patience when waiting.
• The importance of ignoring my phone and my work so I can have quality time with my son.

I have a lot still to learn, and I wish my mom was still around to help me with some of the things on her list. (I have yet to attempt to sew on swim patches, and it takes me a lot longer than 90 seconds to pack a lunch.) Still, I’m proud of what I’ve learned so far in my three years of being a mom.

Do you have great lessons you’ve learned as a parent? Please share in the comments.