My motherhood emotional kryptonite will always lie in my children’s birth songs—the songs that played in the room when they took their first breaths and I held them and locked eyes with those little souls that said hello with blinky stares and steady breaths and weight that settled just so into the crook of my arm.
I became a mother to Kate Bush’s “This Woman’s Work,”—Pray God you can cope calming last minute hyperventilating, I know you have a lot of strength left encouraging one more push and Give me these moments, give them back to me, give me your little kiss serenading one of the most euphoric moments of my entire life. It was too perfect really–the music, the birth, even the impressive Apgar score—and to this day I rely heavily on the few funny that-didn’t-go-well details of Lainey’s birth story to give some disclaimers to what is otherwise a heavenly slice of memory. “The Stadol made me crazy,” I make sure to tell everyone. Nobody likes a perfect story.
Bryan Adams sang “When You Love Someone” when Nella was born, and I don’t know that I’ve ever listened to it all the way through since that day. It makes my stomach sick with love—instant tears at that first pan flute trill–and every single word from there on seems to spell out everything I feel about her. Destiny seems a little unicornish, but yes, destiny.
By the time Dash was born, I took a different route: Don’t plan perfection. Let it ride. It was important to me not to play a particular song when he was born but rather let a playlist stream and see what song happened to be the one he chose to pop out to. We know it was between One Republic’s “Good Life”, Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World” and Extreme’s “More Than Words” but he’s the last baby, and we were really tired. I do remember eating a taco that night though because I was so hungry. When he climbs on his dresser and tears all the pictures off the wall, Brett says, “We should have picked his birth song.” He’s every bit of destiny too, and I love that it takes three songs to capture his amazingness.
Either way, these songs are now precious buttons connected to deep emotions that are meant to stay dormant until birthdays and special occasions. They’re too special, too raw. If I hear more than a few chords of any of them, I run to shut them off. I don’t ever want that magic to weaken—to hear them too many times where they’d lose their power, as if that’s possible. It’s just that…it hurts.
My mom didn’t have songs playing in the room when we were born. She was lucky to have my dad allowed in the room, so dragging an 8-track player in and cuing up the Bill Gaither Trio was out of the question. She didn’t have favors for hospital guests or an incense pot burning lavender oil, but I love to hear that a nurse let them sneak in a cake to celebrate New Year’s Eve in the hospital. “We had party hats,” my mom tells me, “We put one on you and someone took a picture.” Sounds like something I would do in 1978.
My mom didn’t have a car while my dad was in seminary. But she never let that stop her from loading up a rickety old stroller with blankets and sandwiches so she could take us on adventures and park dates and picnics. One time the stroller broke while she was crossing a street and she had to drag my crying sister and the broken stroller across while everyone looked on. “It was so embarrassing,” she laughs.
My mom didn’t have the luxury of a baby monitor when she brought us home. So she developed radar hearing tuned to pull her out of the deepest of sleep at the faintest sound of cries. She kept us close those early days—no Baby Bjorn or ring sling or Mamaroos to make it easier, so she held us in her God-given resource: arms. She perfected the baby bounce, the back pat and the gentle sway that have made her, to this day, a legendary Baby Whisperer.
My mom didn’t have a lot of money when we were little or the convenience of kids’ catalogues and quick purchase clicks with 2-day shipping for things we needed. So she made them with patterns and fabric, a sewing machine and capable hands. Beautiful dresses, hand-stitched rompers, doll clothes and Christmas presents and gifts for our teachers. She crocheted the most beautiful collar with a pearl button for my fourth grade teacher and I still remember how good I felt watching my teacher open it and love it.
My mom raised us with no social media. No blogs for assurance, no Facebook for validation, no online friends reminding her that she wasn’t alone and no Pinterest for birthday treat ideas. But she more than conquered motherhood without it, finding comfort in faith and family and relying on her own brilliance and imagination for ideas. She molded rice krispie treats into baskets, formed chocolate cake into bunnies, and sewed braided yarn into wigs for last-minute Halloween costumes.
And yet, you should hear her, my mom. When she sees something my brother painted or hears about one of my sister’s D.I.Y. projects or gets a picture of one of my handmade birthday party favors. “You kids are so talented. If I had an ounce of your creativity…”
And I think, Good God, Mom, if only you realized.
A mother, by definition, is the very essence of creativity—a daily symphony of love, a masterpiece of emotions, a lifelong composition of making memories, repurposing energy, forming ideas, facing criticism and swirling feelings and changes and heartache and joy onto a canvas that you don’t even have control over—and yet you never stop painting.
“If I had an ounce of your creativity….”
You’re a mother—da Vinci has nothing on you.
Since my mother didn’t get to pick any birth songs, I’ve taken the liberty to give her a few pieces of mine today. Taken from the songs that were playing when my three hearts were birthed, sung by Kate Bush, Bryan Adams and Louis Armstrong respectively…for the mamas.
I know you have a little life in you yet
I know you have a lot of strength left.
Give me these moments.
Give them back to me.
When you love someone, you’ll sacrifice
Giving everything you got and you won’t think twice
You’d risk it all no matter what may come
When you love someone.
I hear babies cryin’. I watch them grow.
They’ll learn much more than I’ll ever know
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world.
Happy Mother’s Day to all of you beautiful, creative souls. And to those of you who have lost a mother, lost a child and in doing so, lost a heart–may you feel ever so loved today.
Trish says
Very nice testimony. PS- Dash looks just like you in that last picture!
Allison D says
Thanks for sharing your mom with us Kellie. Happy Mothers Day to you!
Anne says
Truly beautiful Kelle.
maria says
Awesome pictures, Kelle. Bubby, in that second pic with your Mom, looks just like Dash.
This is the twelveth Mother’s Day I’m spending without my Mom. How different the world is without her.
Hope you have a wonderful Mother’s Day! xo
DG says
Just lovely. Thank you for sharing your words with all of us. I love seeing your baby pictures – I can see how each of your kids looks like “little you.”
greenapples says
Holy mackerel…..you looked just like Dash, and Dash looks just like Brett. How can this be??? O.o
Monique says
You made me cry..
Beautiful!
You are such a wise girl..well beyond your years.
Happy Mother’s Day:)
Mackenzie says
What a beautiful weaving of words:) thank you..!
Nikki says
beautifully written! Happy Mother’s Day!
Jeanie says
That was beautiful, Kelle. Happy Mothers Day to you and yours!
Mandi Wolfswinkel says
I love this. Happy Mother’s Day sweet mama!
Lee says
I looked for the song that was #1 at the time both my golden were born & they so fit my kids’ personality, it’s ridiculous! My crazy, funny 3 yo’s is Call Me Maybe & my cool, hunky 6 year old’s is Sex on Fire by Kings of Leon…I joke that there was something else on fire that day!!
carolina says
perfect and touching as always! Happy mother´s day, to one of the best!
Life with Kaishon says
Kelle, This post made me put down my editing and send Sabriah and Kaishon a text message with a song that makes me think of them. I told them a few reasons I loved them and reminded them that even though we are having some tumultuous days now during this stage of teenage angst, they are always in my heart and I love them mightily.
This post also made me call my mom crying and tell her how much I love her. She was planting the flowers I got her at the Firehouse supper on Saturday night with my niece Brooke. My Mom is amazing, just like yours. She told me she was glad I called because she was missing her own dear Mama this morning.
I hope you had a beautiful day yesterday with your blessings. You are a great mother. Truly outstanding.
Happy Monday, Love, Becky
Patti says
Your mama sounds like the sweetest woman . Sounds like someone I would love to be friends with . Xoxo
Kelle says
I’ve thought that many times. You and my mom would love each other. :o)
Robin Lee says
I love a blog with photos and beautiful word together…thank you for this!
Danielle Lukes says
Not the very first pic but the second one is a little mini Dash!! Great pictures! Hope you had a fabulous Mother’s Day!!
Lindsay says
One of my favorite posts by one of my favorite writers. Music is food for my soul and I wish I could bottle the feelings I have when I hear certain songs…
gloria says
absolutely beautiful!!
Shay says
So Beautiful! Thank U for sharing! (:
Britt says
So beautiful, reminds me of my own mum- and the type of mum I hope to be one day.
Britt
Leah says
Beautiful!! xo
Brooke says
I am not a mom. Oh how I pray I get to experience this magic one day. Beautiful post. Happy (late) mothers day:)
Elissa Lerma says
I think this is my favorite post from you ever. Gorgeous!
Leah says
Have you ever listened to Maxwell sing “This woman’s work”? BEAUtiful!! just like you and your family. I adore your posts. I’ve laughed, cried, and admired the Hell out of you lady.
Kelle says
Yes…incredible. The way he matches Kate Bush’s range! Love. And thank you for the kind words.