The Perfect Mother’s Day Gift

My kids are amazingly sweet and thoughtful gift-givers.  They often start planning weeks ahead for the perfect present, and they come up with the most creative ideas.  (There are photos of my birthday present from them still waiting to be posted…you will be amazed!)  

This Mother’s Day was no exception.  I have heard whispers for a couple of weeks now about a gift in the works.  They are even getting better at the art of secrecy, and I had no idea what was in store for me this time.  All I knew was that Sophie, Ben, and Andrew were all in on this one.  

At the appointed time today, I was asked to wait in the family room for their arrival.  Damien sat next to me with the video camera ready to go.  Moments later, in came Andrew, wearing a homemade paper mask in the shape of a seed.  Next followed Ben, wearing a gardener’s hat.  Next followed Sophie, who handed me a program for their play, The Growing Flower, put out props, and reviewed the script before they began.  It was all incredibly perfect, except…

Remember when I mentioned Andrew coming in with a paper mask on his face?  What I didn’t mention was that he came in and flung himself down on the floor, loudly whining and crying for indiscernible reasons.  Sophie started yelling as she prepared the scene.  (“Boys, it’s not ready and you know it!”  “I can’t have him whining this whole time!”)  Ben stood apart with an innocent look, although there were allegations that he provoked Andrew.

Several minutes were spent trying to coax Andrew out of the tantrum.  (“Come on, Little Seed!  Show us what you can do!)  The play started briefly, and then Andrew dropped to the floor and continued his tantrum because he couldn’t see out of his mask.  Sophie showed surprising maturity as director by telling Andrew that he could just skip the mask, and eventually agreeing to play his parts for him.  Still, frustration was apparent all around.  After multiple attempts to turn it around, Andrew finally had to be carted off to his room because he couldn’t even calm down enough to watch the play with us.

All of this was caught on film.  The tantrums, the screaming, the tears, the blaming each other.  Our less-than-perfect parenting attempts to deal with a 3-year-old's tantrum.  And finally, the play itself, although it was in modified form by this point.  (It was the life cycle of a flower, with different masks for the seed, the sprout, the flower, rain, and the sun.  There was even a set with a brown blanket for dirt, and confetti rain!)

And you know what?  It really was perfect.  In fact, having this little slice of life caught on camera was the best gift that they could have given me.  We record many moments of our lives, but never the disastrous ones.  I don’t stop to pick up the video camera when kids fight and throw fits.  I don’t record the times when I send them to time out or take away privileges.  We record the fun times, the successes, the school programs and other orchestrated cuteness, the parts that make it all worthwhile, as we should.  But some day this phase of life will be long gone, and I won’t be able to fully remember what it was like.  I won’t remember their angry little voices, or their cries of frustration.  I won’t want to relive it full-time, but I might just want a glimpse.  

If it were a different day, all of the yelling and fighting and disasters might have been too much for me, and it might have put me in a bad mood, too.  But I had a restful day today, which allowed me a better sense of perspective.  And as the melt-down happened all around us, I found myself checking with Damien to make sure that the camera was still on.  Because for just a brief moment, I looked into my future.  A future where I hope to be rested more of the time.  I pictured myself watching this scene when my kids are grown and gone.  I pictured laughing until I cried, and hitting play again.  And I was so, so grateful to have this precious, unplanned moment captured.  Our family, just as it is right now.  It really was the perfect gift.