Bittersweet

I put away RJ's train set last week. I wiped the crumbs from Thomas, James, and Percy, carefully placing them in a plastic bin. "It's just for now," I told myself. "We can always pull them out when RJ asks to play with them again." I carefully stacked the bridges and curves inside the bin so that they won't warp, because deep inside, I know that they're going to be stored for years. Gordon, Henry, Emily, and Victor have chugged their last chug powered by my little man's fingers (for now, right? He's not really finished with them?).

I used to think I understood "bittersweet." It's that feeling of dark chocolate--so sweet you nearly can't stand it until that little bite of bitterness pierces through you, though not the kind of bitter that chews away at your soul but rather, the bitterness that remains after some type of loss. The sweetness ultimately overcomes the bitter, leaving nothing but a mild melancholy, a hint of pride, and tension between longing for the past and looking forward to the future.

Motherhood has given me this feeling of bittersweet. Without it, I would never have shed a tear over a wooden track and a few (okay, many) tiny railroad engines. But, I'm a mom above all else. I'm not ashamed. I cried like a toddler who dropped her ice cream cone when I put those little trains away. I convinced myself that I'm happy that RJ prefers Legos and racing cars to little steam engines who wile away their days trying to be nothing more than really useful. I am happy that he's growing up, and that Gigi is too.

But it's only now that I'm truly understanding that "bittersweet" is more than a key ingredient on my Christmas baking list. "Bittersweet" is the recurring theme of motherhood. It's a feeling I know will come next week at kindergarten graduation. I'll be visited by that melancholy and pride again when Gigi starts pre-school. Someday (not too soon!), I'll watch my babies go on first dates, mend broken hearts (and break a few too).

Yesterday, I was reminded of the bittersweetness of Mother's Day for a dear friend, and after a day spent with my mom, I appreciated the sweetness of my day that came without any bitterness. Happy Mother's Day to all of my mommy friends, and to all of our moms who cried their own tears at those little bittersweet moments. I'm lucky that my mom is still with me, and I can tell her, "I love you." And to my friends who missed their moms yesterday, I remember them. Our moms all raised good women, and I know they're proud, whether here or in heaven.

And because I'm feeling a little bit of melancholy and a little bit proud,

This was my first Mother's Day, when I swore I'd never have a train table in my living room, and I'd never heard of Thomas the Tank Engine. I didn't know that there's one evil diesel engine on the happy Island of Sodor, and I certainly didn't know that someday, I'd shed a tear when that little diesel engine pulled into Tidmouth Shed one last time. RJ was so little on my first Mother's Day that I only knew the sweet, without a hint of the bitter. 

This year, he's gotten a little bigger, and he gained a best friend and sister along the way. 

This is my happy place. 

This makes me pretty happy too--a Mother's Day tea at our little Lutheran school.