I don’t think Mother’s Day should be all about me.

Don’t get me wrong, I love being in the spotlight and being appreciated. But for me, this is also a day to really celebrate becoming a mom and all that means to me, which is a lot more than you can likely imagine.

I know everyone loves their children with all their heart. But I’m honestly not positive that everyone loves them with the same intensity or with the same indebted gratitude that I feel for mine. I had no childhood of my own. I grew to an adult not ever having anyone to really love me. The necessity of that love created a bond with my children that was unimaginable. The need to ensure their safety, to create a life impregnable and impervious to psychological or physical damage was so strong that I devoted every moment of my own life to guarantee it.

Becoming a mom for me was not something that was a big planned event. I was 21 and John and I had been together a couple of years. We weren’t married and hadn’t even talked about that step. I knew nothing about how to be a mother, never having had one to learn from. At that point I wasn’t doing a very good job of caring for myself, never mind being responsible for someone else. The thought of the inherent responsibility for this tiny life scared the crap out of me.

And in that moment of realizing I was going to be a mother, all of the mangled transgressions of my own mother flashed before my eyes. In the flash of that moment I felt my heart swell, while at the same time my resolve hardened. For the first time in my life I felt the intrepid clarity of omnipotence course through me, piercing my mental fragility like a needle popping a balloon.

In that moment I became a different person and began a journey of taking control of my life. Jorden came along just 13 months after Kelsey, bringing with him more strength and resolve to ensure my kids had a loving, caring upbringing.

The day I became a mom was the day I began to own my life. I don’t know where I’d be if I hadn’t become a mom, and I don’t like to think about that. All I know is that I needed that wake up call from my womb in order to save my life.

Seventeen years later, I can’t imagine life without my kids. I have many memories that stick with me and make me almost sad to think about, in a good-sad way. Tiny hands clasped around a lock of my hair, soft little hands on both of my cheeks as a little voice spills out, “I wuv you mommy,” the sounds of giggles and splashing in the pool floating through a summer’s breeze, Kelsey’s face littered white with ice cream, and Jorden professing his hand in marriage to me, “I’m going to marry YOU, mommy.” Teenage years brought a new but different bond with my children: helping them with hurts and pains the world would often deliver, walks on the beach discussing the world and imagining what the future would bring and laughing at Jorden’s jokes and antics until it hurt.

As my children ease on past the midway, edging closer to the end of their childhood, I now get to appreciate all that work I put in to making sure they did not have to experience a childhood like mine. I witness their empathy for others, their compassion for the world, their interest in the enrichment of humanity, their non-reliance on material things. They are not perfect; but they are close.

On this celebration of Mom’s, I am celebrating the life my children gave to me. I burst with pride for whom they’ve become. The amount of love I have for them makes my heart ache to the point of tears. I cry as I type this. They brought me real, full and joyful love I did not get to experience as a child or youth. I don’t know for sure where my life would be without them.

Thank you, Kelsey and Jorden, for making me a mom. Thank you for making me whole.

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Don’t judge a book by its cover. Judge not, lest ye be judged. Never assume, it makes an ass out of u and me.

Tired, old cliches. Does anyone even pay attention to them anymore? I’m not so sure anyone ever really did. Having grandma tell you, “Judging is for Jesus!” while she spoons scrambled eggs onto your plate is not likely to stop you from laughing with your girlfriends about the heavy woman wearing a bikini at the local pool. Reading the words, “Don’t judge a book by its cover” emblazoned in an ad on the back of a city bus won’t prevent you from looking with disdain at the scruffy bearded guy in dirty, faded jeans playing guitar outside the liquor store for spare change. Telling everyone your best quality is that you are nonjudgmental doesn’t prevent you from rolling your eyes and making a wide berth around a drunk man who is crying and mumbling to himself as he stumbles down the street.

I’m not going to sit up on a pedestal here and try to make anyone believe that I have never judged others. I have. And I have regretted it. Sometimes immediately, sometimes later that day, sometimes years down the road. But I WILL tell you that I now consciously make an effort NOT to judge. I’m not always successful, but I do beat myself up about it when I fail. Generally I’m not a fan of beating up on oneself for mistakes, but when one’s shortcomings have a negative impact on others it’s time to jump in with a little self smack-down.

I’ve spent a good portion of my life being judged by others. There are times when I can completely understand how and why someone would have judged me for my behaviour, and there are times where I am judged still that I do NOT understand. My son is consistently judged for his spike-laden leather jacket and brightly coloured hair by people who know nothing about his punk culture and all the amazing things he stands for and the incredible depth of his character. It saddens me. Perhaps you, reader, would judge him also. But perhaps I can help that judgment to stop, through a little understanding.

In my own retrospection I have found that the key to not judging others is understanding the reasons behind why I was so judgemental.

Sometimes it was that the person, in their own success, reminded me of ways in which I had failed. When seeing a very fit, beautiful woman, I might turn to my husband and comment about how much she paid for her body or how she is probably dumb as a stump, comments that would stem out of my own feelings of inadequacy. We judge others as a strategy to avoid uncomfortable feelings.

I also think that sometimes we judge when a person has qualities we wish we possessed.  And I believe that a lot of judgement comes from wearing blinders. We don’t spend enough time thinking about others and understanding that every person has their own battles they are fighting. Although you are witnessing their present, you know nothing about their previous. That heavy woman in that bikini may have just lost 200 lbs and feels really good about herself. That man stumbling down the street, mumbling and crying to himself and reeking of wine may have just lost his wife and daughter in a car accident.

By understanding our apparent need to judge and instead opening our minds and hearts to others we are able to feel compassion instead of judgement, whether or not we are enthusiastic about a person’s current behavior. Having understanding and compassion for others doesn’t mean we have to condone or even like their behaviour. It just means we have opened our mind to the possibility that this person has so much more dimension to them than the present that we are witnessing. It means we come to terms with our own self-loathing that lies beneath the surface of our happy facade so that we can heal ourselves instead of judging others. This is the kind of reflection that leads to greater happiness.

So next time you find yourself judging a book by its cover, use that as a learning moment. Recognize the blessing of self-awareness that moment can bring, and use it to retrieve your own self-acceptance.

Sometimes we succeed. I had a victory last year with a 95 lb weigh loss. But often we fail. I did last year also, still having another 50 lbs to lose. And failing is hard on us, even if only subconsciously.

In Buddhism one does not look too far forward or back. Live in the now. Be present and accountable to the day and to the moment. That isn’t always feasible when retirement planning or deciding a weekly dinner schedule, but I think it has more meaning and importance to our lives than many people realize or understand. Another Buddhism ideal that I admire is the absence of automatic indemnification of a person’s wrongdoings by some third party. There is no forgive. We are fully responsible for our actions and although we can’t be absolved, it is important for our own peace of mind, and for our own self to be whole, that we devote our energy to rectifying our wrongs.

I’ve gone through a season of changes in my life over the past few years. I’ve made conscious, large-scale, holistic changes to who I am and how I respond to the world and life around me. For these past few years, the end of each one of them represented 365 mornings of new beginnings and brought me closer to who I feel is the real me, someone I am finally finding comfort in being.

I’m not going to make any resolutions this year. I will continue to work on the parts of me I think need improvement without gazing into a crystal ball of the year ahead and feeling the looming presence of the potential failure of my own expectations.

I’m going to continue to look back over my past and identify mistakes I’ve made or people I’ve hurt and do my best to fix what I broke.

Ultimately, I’m going to fix stuff. No expectations of success or failure, and accountable only to myself.

I wish everyone a year ahead full of joy, comfort, and the ability to recognize the wonderful, beautiful things we all experience in our lives. Watch for them….the beautiful moments come along sometimes intermingled among the not-so-beautiful – or even ugly – moments. If you are watching, you will see them, and they will bring you comfort.

I look back and wonder if I spent enough time really enjoying them. Did I go for enough walks in the park, their chubby, sticky hands encased in my own while we listen to the birds herald our arrival? Did I scoop them up into my lap enough times, feeling the warmth of their silky skin against mine, inhaling deeply the scent of their Loreal Kids shampoo? Did we mess the kitchen enough times with flour and baking soda and chocolate chips?

Did I listen to them, I mean really listen, looking into their sparkling, animated eyes as their mouths struggled around their new words while they told me their wonderful stories of what just happened with the dog or how they were going to build a castle one day for me to live in?

I’d love to be able to answer yes to all these questions. But as any parent knows, there is never enough time. 24 hours a day, 365 days a year would not be enough time to spend with your arms wrapped protectively and lovingly around your children, focused on every last infant sneeze, mispronounced toddler word, childhood giggle fit or grandiose story of make-believe.

I look back with nostalgic melancholy, not convinced I spent enough time just enjoying my children. At the time I’m sure I did, and I’m not sure I would do anything differently now. I think I’m just feeling the somber bereavement of no longer being the indispensable essence of my children’s lives.

I won’t have any more babies of my own. As they pass into adulthood, I will no longer be the nucleus of their lives. But in the future, when they have their own families, I can be that mom that reminds them to enjoy every minute, to take the time to bask in their children’s love, to blanket themselves with their children’s laughter and joy, and to just feel and enjoy every minute.

Happy Birthday, my son.