I have two very ugly, half-dead plants in my living room, which I have now dubbed as “the room where plants die.” One plant is a money plant, which my friend brought to the hospital when Reese was born. Her birthday is around Chinese New Year, and this money plant is supposed to bring good luck and good fortune. The other plant is a lucky bamboo plant that was given to me by my mother-in-law on either my first or second Mother’s Day. Bamboo plants are sturdy plants, low maintenance, and nearly impossible to kill, so a perfect plant for a busy new mom.
These two plants had some serious promise, starting off young and eager to grow and thrive. 9 years later, let me paint the picture of what these two look like today. The money plant, which started off with 4 hearty intertwined stems and a few budding leaves, once promising to bring good fortune, is now broke. It currently has one surviving stem that leans so far from upright, as if it has an elderly woman’s dowager’s hump. I have propped it up with a spare chopstick I found from a carry out meal. I swear when I water this poor plant, I could almost hear it whisper, “I swear I’m going to die today. Bye, Felicia.” But if you look closely at it, this dying plant keeps sprouting new leaves every time one falls off, and millimeter by millimeter, it keeps growing its stem. It is truly a pathetic sight, but I still water it every week. I can’t seem to let it go.
The lucky bamboo plant has also run out of its luck. Its once green leaves are now yellowing and it too has begun to lean over, probably looking for a comfortable position to lay down and die. Lucky for it, chopsticks come in pairs, so I have also held it upright with a chopstick and a few twisty ties. This unlucky bamboo plant seems confused too. Most of it looks like it wants to be done, but upon closer examination, it appears to be sprouting these little “Hail Mary” sprouts from the stem, trying to give it another go. So I just keep watering it.
They are both eye sores in the corner of my living room. And I love them. Any normal person would have thrown these plants away long ago, or just stopped watering them and let them die, but I can’t. I feel like they are my mother plants. They’re me. Beyond our obvious Asian connection, I feel like I am figuratively these plants nearly everyday–fucking tired and wanting to lay down and give up, and definitely saggier than my younger days. Sometimes I don’t have enough water, enough sun, just surviving enough to give my energy to others. But I keep going.
In the family room, I placed my younger plants (orchids) where they have the most ideal sunlight to grow. I’m a crazy person, I even talk to these plants and cheer them on when I water them, telling them they’re doing great and I know they could sprout another flower or stem if they try hard enough. These orchids are like my kids and Jamie–I set them up where I think they have the best chance at thriving.
Two main points here. First, I am really getting good at playing Asian Mom Martyr. “Hey, sure, you guys get all the sunlight. I’ll sit here in the corner of the the death room and stare at the walls.” Okay, that’s actually not the point I was getting at, just a revelation I’m having as I write this. My first real point is that moms do what they can to set their families up for success, in whatever way they define living successfully may be. We are the behind the scenes folks, doing the stuff no one thinks of but actually cannot live without. We do what we can to raise up our children and our partners, and we sit back and watch with pride. And when they suck, we pull them aside, teach and show them how to persevere and be better, and once again set the stage up for them to be their best.
My second point: moms don’t stop. We don’t stop until we’re dead. And even when we’re dead, our spirit lives on. Even when we want to give up and just rest, we find energy from somewhere to grow a new root, a new stem, sprout a new leaf, and play our role, no matter how tired or ugly or worn out we are. Because what would they do without us? I’m sure they’d figure out a way to survive, but we make life better.
So if you are THAT mom that is being held up by chopsticks and twisty ties most days, I promise you are in good company. We only get one calendar day where we are celebrated to the fullest, but I know that our kids love us and are thankful for us everyday. And when they act a fool and don’t seem grateful for what we do, we are there to remind them just how good we are. Now, if your kids are assholes, well, it’s probably their dad’s fault (except maybe in this house, where it is clear who the asshole parent is).
Enjoy your quiet corner of the house today. “The room where plants die” is really the heart of the home, our thrones. And we are queens, disguised in leggings and 20+ year-old sweatshirts, wearing dry shampoo as crowns, and holding mops for scepters. Who run the world???…Moms!
Happy Mother’s Day to all, especially my mothers, aunts, sisters, cousins, and girlfriends who work tirelessly at this thankless and oh-so-fulfilling job. Love to you all.
The Mundame 