Mother's Day a chance to say thanks to all who have nurtured

"A child is a child. They get bigger, older, but grown. In my heart it don't mean a thing" - writer Toni Morrison, pictured. Photo/Supplied

My inner cynic says Mother's Day provides an excellent opportunity to spend money in restaurants and at florists. The idealist in me says the day offers a chance to say thanks. Not just thanks from my children (if I'm lucky), but also thanks from me as a mum to other mums, aunties and friends, as well as neighbours who are mothering and nurturing other people's kids.

It does, indeed, take a village to raise a child. Several online sources say the African proverb means the community must interact with young people for them to grow in a safe environment. A Wikipedia entry states, "It does not mean an entire village is responsible for raising your children." Agreed. I am the limit-setter, money-spender, security-provider and final authority in ensuring my progeny have food, shelter, structure and love. So much love. The flip side is aggravation. It's a byproduct of raising people with under-developed prefrontal cortexes whose emotions are tangled like spaghetti.

Today, after having been a married mum, widowed mum and now, nearly-solo mum with husband working and living in another region, I'm confident I'd be sunk without my village. Other mothers (and sometimes, fathers) help with carpools, knowledge-sharing and commiseration over a cuppa or other mood-altering beverage. Need advice about restricting screen time or navigating junior sporting politics? Ask another parent.

Motherhood is the ultimate exercise in optimism. It's life's biggest gamble and most formidable challenge. It can bring an educated, (mostly) rational professional to her knees as she tries to reason with a 12-year-old attorney-in-training while simultaneously comforting a budding 14-year-old drama queen. Motherhood has drenched my spirit in humility and etched my face with worry. It's like ingesting a daily bolus of humble pie, then chasing it with bitters.

Another kind of mothering develops within the community. It happens when volunteers perform basic nurturing tasks - feeding hungry people or sheltering those without a home. It happens when women in emergency housing swap stories with the theme of, "I've been there, too." It emerges in schools, in clubs and at work when teachers, coaches and mentors model competence and cultivate confidence - just like Mum strives to do.

As Sunday approaches, I'm grateful for my own mother, though she's 13,500km away. And I remember women for whom Mother's Day marks a less-than-happy occasion: those trying for years to conceive; those who've lost children, or those whose dreams of health and happiness for their child have been shattered; for those whose own mums have died. For a friend whose husband passed away unexpectedly this month, leaving her to raise three boys without their dad.

There are empty-nesters longing to see adult children who live too far away (sorry, Mom) and mums aching to communicate with children who've distanced themselves emotionally because those adult kids falsely imagine grudge matches have winners. There are step-mothers who invest time and talent into children not biologically theirs. Some of those children will appreciate the stand-in's sacrifice; many will not.

I'm mindful of these heartbreaks lived by women in all phases of life. It's especially tough to consider how lucky I am when my own kids are squabbling in the next room, when "She hit me!" is followed by, "No, I didn't!" It's easy to forget the universe has handed you one of life's great miracles when you're consistently telling your miracles, "I'm not your servant", with all the conviction of a jailhouse convert.

You mother like mad, grumble to friends, lean on them for help, then marvel at the warm sensation of love coursing from fingertips to heart to head when, during a walk, your teenaged daughter takes your hand. And holds it tight.

I recall what other mothers have told me - something I've only recently started to grasp: these two children who take turns filling my soul and stomping it will soon fly the coop.

It'll mean no more refereeing fights (or reverting to, "Work it out, guys!"); no more Ubering; no more dishwashing coercion or lawn mowing supervision; no more imitations of a human ATM (though I hear this may continue from a distance…); no more hair braiding or governing screen time. And no more children in the house telling me they love me and want to live with me forever.

I turn for solace to writer Toni Morrison, who said grown means nothing to a mother. "A child is a child. They get bigger, older, but grown. In my heart it don't mean a thing."

A Maori proverb, Ko te whaea te takere o te waka, says "Mothers are like the hull of a canoe, they are the heart of the family."

To this, I'd add you don't have to have given birth to have mothered. To mums, aunties, teachers, mentors, friends - enjoy Mother's Day. Or call someone for whom this day is difficult - they might need a little mothering themselves.