Watching the rainfall on this spring day, I recall a scene from late August 1975, which still produces laughter. At the time, we were living in an apartment in Moultrie, Georgia, and I was expecting my third child to arrive any day. My oldest daughter, Amy, was on her way home from public kindergarten. Her almost two-year-old sister, Heather, and I were strolling toward the front of the complex to meet Amy when she got off the bus.
It had rained most of the day, but now the sun began to shine as steam rose from the earth, creating a low fog. The apartment’s pool rested atop a hill, and deep rain puddles gathered in the grass around its base. It was so hot and humid that when I caught sight of the pool, I wished it would still be open. However, the gate was now locked except on weekends.
As I was rubbing my aching back and dreaming about swimming, I caught a glimpse of a figure sliding down the hill and splashing into a deep rain puddle at the base of the pool. The sight was so unexpected and comical that it instantly lifted my spirits.
Earlier that morning, I decided to let Amy wear her favorite dress on her second day of school. It was an exquisite little number that I happened to find on sale at a specialty shop. She looked adorable as I brushed her curls around her face, softening her dark brown eyes, which always held a bit of mischief.
When Heather saw the child frolicking in the dirty water, she began to laugh and point! The bus must have been off schedule and early because Amy, in her pretty new dress, was sliding down a grassy slope into the water below. Mud squished between her toes, and now her curls swung in every direction possible. She was drenched from head to toe.
When Amy spied me, her eyes grew wide, realizing there could be a corner waiting for her. However, for some reason, I only understood that my daughter desperately needed to cool off, and she did!
Heather squealed with delight as I removed her shoes, telling her to join her sister.
They slid down the hills and into the rain pools with such screaming hilarity that folks gathered to watch. Someone brought me a lawn chair, as I thought for sure I would wind up in labor from belly laughing.
Today, a silver frame is around a small photograph of Amy in her fancy dress sitting in a puddle as Heather is caught by the camera in the middle of a jump to create a splash.
A few days passed, and my son joined the world.
Motherhood is not for sissies. It requires a level of courage that is unparalleled.
Over the last 50 years, during my children’s illnesses, troubles, accidents, and mischievous adventures, I was there. My heart crumbled many times when they suffered unbearable pain and loss. I have fallen on my knees, begging God to save them from this or that so often; I think He must be frazzled by my pleas.
However, until I join God, I will continue praying because I am my children’s mother.
Motherhood is not for sissies. It requires a level of courage that is unparalleled. Mothers are the bravest human beings on earth. No Mother would ever get through half of what they endure without an angel picking up the pieces and a God who hands them a morning dose of fearlessness.
Today, mothers everywhere face significant stress as they navigate their children’s lives, including education, finances, jobs, and food security. Their burdens are heavy with worry. Many mothers have experienced the heartbreaking loss of a child or are caring for a sick baby. Despite this pain, these valiant women find the strength to persist and continue caring for their families. They become their children’s legacies and true heroines.
When I recall the struggles of raising my three, I am in awe I persevered, and so did they. But motherhood is not just about surviving but relishing those days that propel you forward, the moments of laughter and sheer delight. The days when you take the time to watch your children squeal with happiness because of a rain puddle or Santa’s arrival are priceless.
The exhilaration I feel for the honor of being my children’s mother is far greater than any motherhood struggles I endured. They are the greatest gifts of my life.
As I look at the faded photo of two little girls splashing in rainwater, I am thankful I took the time to watch with great glee, my children being children.
Belly laughs and love significantly outweigh the hard work of motherhood.
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Lynn Walker Gendusa is a Tennessee-raised, Georgia-residing author and columnist. Her latest book is “Southern Comfort: Stories of Family, Friendship, Fiery Trials, and Faith.” She can be reached at www.lynngendusa.com. For more of her inspirational stories, click here.
