I remember very clearly the day I looked down at my youngest child, Eva, nursing at my breast and proclaimed, ” Snack bar’s closed, kid. Get off my boob.” She was almost three so it wasn’t like I hadn’t done my time. Sophia was six so I calculated I had been pregnant or lactating for almost seven years. Enough. It was time. I was ready to move on.

I feel that way now with my youngest stepchild, Cheryl, in her last year of elementary school. I’m burnt out. And I mean it. No, I will not sew wings on T-shirts for the class play. Sorry, can’t make brownies for the school carnival. And no way in hell am I going to another PTA meeting. I’ve had my fill. I’ve paid my dues. I’m done.

I didn’t alway feel this way. There was a time when I was an overly enthusiastic parent who sat on every committee, campaigned for every school ballot measure, drove on every field trip and worked all the bake sales. By my calculations I helped to raise over 100K for my kids’ elementary school. I was a power mom and proud of it. I didn’t spend all that time at my kids’ schools because the principal or teachers needed me. And I didn’t do it because my kids asked me to. I did it for me. I’ll tell you why.

In December of 2003 I decided to fly home to Philadelphia to spend Christmas with my mother. I hadn’t been home for Christmas in years and I thought it would be nice for the kids to see some snow and visit with my mom. We had a great time. We made gingerbread houses and I let my mom put out all the presents and fill the stockings. She loved that. While we were there, she kept doing this thing that she always did that drove me crazy; which resulted in this typical exchange:

Mom: “You know who I saw in the Acme today? Patty McLaughlin. Wasn’t she in your class? Weren’t you on the bowling team together?”
(I was never on the bowling team and I have no recollection of a Patty McLaughlin so you can see where I am going with this story.)
Me: “I don’t remember Patty McLaughlin, Mom. Jane (my sister) was on the bowling team. Not me. Must have been her.”
MoM: “NO! It was you.”
She would protest and try to convince me I was wrong until I gave up and let her have her way. It drove me nuts. I could never understand her need to wax nostalgic about every person that ever entered my life, until … a few weeks later when I finally got it.

After I returned home to California, I was in a video store with Sophia (who was 10 at the time) when who did we run into, but Angie Brown! Angie and Sophia were in kindergarten together and at the time, they were the best of friends. They played together at our house every afternoon. At the end of the school year Angie moved away and we never saw her again. She and her mom were back in town visiting and by chance we ran into them. Angie’s mother and I had a gushy reunion conversation that went something like this:

Me: “Oh my gosh, Angie! You have gotten so tall! I can’t believe how grown up you are!!”
Angie’s Mom: “Sophia, look at you. You look just like your mother.”
Me: “Sophia, do you remember when you and Angie used to play in our wading pool in the front yard?”
Angie’s Mom: “Remember the time you each covered your bodies with green food coloring and it didn’t come off for days?’

You get the idea. Total kid humiliation. As we continued our trip down memory lane I looked at the girls and I could tell by the stricken and bored looks on their faces that they did not recognize or remember each other. On top of that, they were so embarrassed they couldn’t wait to get away. That’s when it hit me. I HAD TURNED INTO MY MOTHER!!! Was I going to shrink and start going to the hair dresser once a week? Would I take up Canasta and become addicted to game shows? What was to become of me? Quick, I had to make penance. I called my mother to apologize for all the years I never understood her need to constantly remind me of my childhood.

The phone rings. Mom answers. “Hello.”
Me: “Hi, Mom. It’s me, Carol.”
Mom: “Who? Jane is that you?”
Me: “No Mom, it’s Carol.”
Mom: “Carol? Hold on. Let me turn down Jeopardy.” (Why she never lowered  the TV before she answered the phone I’ll never know.)
Me: “Mom. I just wanted to tell you about this girl we ran into today. She was a friend of Sophia’s from kindergarten. We hadn’t seen her in years. I couldn’t believe how much she changed. She got really tall. It’s amazing how time flies isn’t it?”
Mom: “Yes it is. When I look back on my life I cannot believe I raised five children. Where did the time go? You know when you kids were small… those were the best years of my life. All those class trips, scouts… school dances (don’t forget bowling tournaments) … those were fun times.”

I decided at that moment that I would let my mother have her memories any way she wanted them and I wouldn’t contradict her. I also realized that all the effort my mother put forth to raise us wasn’t just for us. It was for her. She did it for herself, so that she could have the pleasure of enjoying her children. So let that be a lesson to you. The next time you are gritting your teeth to rush little Susie or little Johnny to, “Get your cleats on and get in the car. We are going to be late for soccer”, only to discover that you have driven to the wrong field and it was your turn to bring snack and you forgot; just remember this– These are the best years of your life.

Now at the risk of making an overly sentimental story even more so, I feel I must tell you that that Christmas of ‘03 was my mother’s last. She died the following November. At her funeral I watched grown men and women sob when they approached me with stories of my mother they recalled from their childhood. One man in particular who was very close to my mother when she was the head of the church youth group told me,”Your mother was a great influence on me. You will never know how much she meant to me.”

Never underestimate the impact you can have on someone else’s child.

So the next time you are asked to co-chair a school fundraiser or organize a committee — do it. Do it not just for the kids. Do it for yourself.