Deanna Hoak

Mother’s Day is in just a few hours, and I’ve been thinking about what it means to me. I’ve had a lot of different jobs in my life: I’ve woken at 4 a.m. to pick peaches before the sun came up, then driven to market to sell them by the basket out of the back of a truck. I’ve stood for sixteen hours at a fishery, scraping blood from the insides of salmon with a bent household spoon. I’ve sold magazines over the phone, and I’ve tutored football players who never would have been allowed into college on their academics alone.

The most difficult job I’ve ever done, though, is being a mother. We balance always on a wire, first carrying and then leading our kids to adulthood.

On this tightrope of motherhood…

I have to be strong…but not so much that the softness of my emotions doesn’t shine through in empathy and tenderness.

I embrace them so tightly…but with enough room that I don’t smother them as I do so.

I give them all my heart…yet save enough of my self that I can continue to care for them.

I protect them…yet give them freedom to grow.

I take them to school and practice and help with their homework, clean and cook and wash…yet find the moments to listen to their troubles and understand their emotions, to cuddle and play and talk.

I encourage their independence…yet limit their behavior.

I meet all of their needs…yet can’t give in to all their wants.

I wobble, often, and lean too far one way or the other. I’m always afraid of the fall. But my kids keep growing, and I keep going, and I hope only that they’re wonderful adults when we arrive at the far platform. I love them more than I can express.