Spring is in the air (along with pollen, unfortunately), eggs are in the incubators in my son’s preschool class, my daughter is gearing up for a recital, and the wildflowers that paint the Texas hillsides and highways are more glorious than ever. I find myself a tad extra creative this time of year, with winter at our backs, egg hunts on the calendar, and Fiesta confetti on the floor. I used the hour-and-a-half that I had to myself one Friday morning to amble up and down the aisles of a local craft store, aiming to assemble ideas for a weekly craft project, a centerpiece fit for an Easter table, and enough materials to produce a wreath or two for my back doors. As I stood in line with 10+ items (none for the projects I just listed, by the way), I couldn’t help but overhear a sweet new mama’s conversation on the phone with her own mama and chuckle at the words I can only imagine her mom was saying back to her. The conversation went something like this:
“Yes, I keep all of the baby food I make categorized with color-coded labels. If the food comes from the ground, it gets a green lid. If it comes from a tree, it gets a yellow lid. If it is a ground and tree combination, then I use purple lids. I left the nanny directions to please feed him one yellow-lid and two green-lid foods. And do you know what she did? She fed him two yellow and two green foods! Jim doesn’t think this is worth getting upset over. But seriously, what am I going to do, Mom?”
At this point, I am pretty sure that sweet girl’s mother told her to take a deep breath and a sip of her latte (which she did simultaneously) and try to grasp that it’s going to be OK. Based on the conclusion of their conversation (I was in line for 90 percent of it), I could also gather that the veteran mom informed her baby that despite the present thought process and apparent lid mix-up, the baby was going to come out of this dilemma in one piece. I imagined her mother included a story or two from her own experience about a time when she forgot x, y, and z, and how her daughter, now a new mother, turned out just fine. And just like that, thanks to the words of a mother to a mother, the girl in front of me calmed down, moved on with a “thanks, Mom, I needed to hear that,” and went about her check-out duties.
With my new crafty finds in the trunk and a happy preschooler fresh from pickup in the backseat, I thought about the times I needed reassurance from a mom who had experienced what I was currently going through and lived to tell the tale. I relished in the memories of grandmothers who gently and softly reminded us of our inner strengths, especially when we were completely unaware of their existence. I was comforted in the fact that now, as a mother to a seven- and four-year-old, I too can be part of the group of mothers that guides and supports the mothers who come after me.
A wise mother who is now in the throes of raising teenagers, once told me to turn to books for every season of parenting. This advice didn’t present a problem to my book-hogging, library-loving, former teacher self. I am a firm believer of the power of children’s literature and its ability to speak to us in many ways. We may find ourselves on the shores of the Mighty Mississippi thanks to The Adventures of Huck Finn; whisked away to Narnia with a lion and the imagination of C.S. Lewis; hear about the heartache and triumph of a horse’s life through the eyes of Black Beauty; or piece together clues to solve a mystery alongside Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys. The rich texture and ever-useful lessons seem to fit any season of my parenting life, from sharing and problem solving, to empathy and confidence. Children’s literature found its way into every lesson and every content area of my classroom, and as a mom of two book-loving kiddos, we are never at a loss for a book to curl up with or a magazine to reread. With my morning encounter with the new mother fresh in my mind, and my four-year-old reading his book of the week for the millionth time, I was suddenly transported into the story, only this time from a mother’s point of view…
Janell Cannon’s story of Verdi introduces readers to a young python that wants nothing more than to keep his bright yellow markings and youthful energy as he played all day on a tropical island. His mother urges him to “…grow up big and green—as green as the trees’ leaves…,” yet he doesn’t quite understand why his colors and markings must change. Readers meet the grown green snakes as Verdi gets himself into various predicaments by being young and, frankly, just a bit reckless. The adult green snakes are sluggish, guarded, and downright dull to the bright-eyed and wispy-tailed Verdi, who perceives them as ones that spend their days moaning, groaning, and sleeping. To us mama readers, the greens are the more experienced snakes, who spend their days keeping a watchful eye over the young, yellow hatchlings. I leafed through the pages, letting the familiarity of the jungle setting and the quirkiness of the characters flood over me, and I chuckled along with the text. Despite the recognizable features of the story and my whole-hearted love of the lesson, I found myself identifying with the minor characters—those boring green snakes—more than ever. Back in my full-time classroom days, I used this book to focus on the importance of adapting to change and learning from your elders and your mistakes while staying true to yourself. Verdi could not alter nature’s intention for his body, and it took him a few misfortunes and conversations with the greens to fully comprehend that notion.
As new moms, we all have a bit of Verdi in us, and my inner yellow snake manifested in an “I can do all the things myself” sort of way. I often bit off more than I could chew when it came to completing tasks and not outsourcing for help, and there were many times that I didn’t trust seasoned moms when they assured me that Situation X would soon pass. Like Verdi, I too thought I would avoid the natural occurrence of change and never shed my skin. I held onto naptime with my youngest as long as I could, and ended up letting go when the words of another mom helped me realize I was fighting a losing battle. That two-hour midday block of time may be long gone, but the beauty of a 7:30 P.M. bedtime is unparalleled. On another occasion, a mom of three middle school-aged boys reminded me that taking time for myself was not a crime, but a necessity. There I was, in the middle of parenting a toddler and an infant in what I am sure was the same pair of yoga pants as when she saw me the week before. As I stood listening to a mother who was on the other side of this chapter, all but ordering me to carve out a chunk of time for myself, I made an inner promise to one day pass on words of wisdom to another mom.
In the classroom, I taught from Verdi’s viewpoint and created activities and exercises to reinforce it, yet I didn’t fully respect the case that the greens state. Once motherhood graced me with her presence and I had the chance to return to this book post-baby, a light went off and the gates opened. I am turning into the one of the greens, I thought. I am having a green moment, I concluded. Some days my green moment is a thumbs up to a mom who is pushing two toddlers in a cart while wearing a baby and trying to retrieve all the items on her grocery list without losing her mind in the process. Other times my green side shows when I nod my head and tell the mom at the park that my kiddo also liked to stand at the top of the slide and not move. “It will pass,” I whisper. And my most favorite of all green moments came when I reassured an almost-to-tears mama that her child will not be in pullups forever. She looked at me with those bright eyes—the same way Verdi looked at the greens when he realized they had “been there, done that”—and said, “Wait, you? You experienced this too?” With that, I am reminded that one doesn’t have to look for the highest branch or search the depths of a forest to find a parent with whom to form a connection.
Time passes, and we moms settle into our own skins and try our best to roll with the changes of parenting seasons. We practice patience and grace, forgiveness and humility, yet all the while working to mold our little hatchlings into their best forms. From bright yellow new mamas to the greenest of all greens, how lucky are we for coexisting on the parenting tree together.
