I'm Arika, the Mommy part of Ava + Mommy. While I love being Mommy, I was a woman, a creative, a friend, a daughter...a real person way before I was ever a mom. Here, I’ll share my thoughts and feelings on how I work in finding harmony with all aspects of myself especially as it pertains to motherhood.
Join Ava + Mommy for a storytime reading of “But What Can You Do? A Story for Kids about Perseverance & Positive Thinking” for Sundae Stories with A Red Circle Nonprofit at Heaven’s Creamery, 10835 West Florissant in Ferguson. They are giving FREE ICE CREAM and FREE BOOKS to kids who come for storytime.
We will be there on Sunday, June 23rd at 3p.
Please register HERE so they’ll know how many people to expect for June 23rd. Feel free to register for multiple dates.
By Arika Parr
The month of May can be a precarious month for some as Mother’s Day approaches. I’ve noticed that logging onto social media on Mother’s Day can be a landmine of emotions. A big overwhelm of love in some instances or tense triggers for others. Over the years I’ve noticed how my social media timeline is flooded with joy, sadness and even some ambivalence on Mother’s Day.
I’ve read beautiful tributes to women who have birthed children and beautiful tributes to women who have not, but effortlessly stood in the gap as a mother figure. I’ve teared up reading posts that felt like I was gifted a page from someone’s personal diary from people who shared their grief through quick story snippets as they mourn the loss of their mom. A brief peek into unspeakable sorrow. We show sympathy for motherless child, but maybe we don’t hold enough space for the motherless adult.
I’ve seen pictures that serve as a snapshot in time from my social media friends with their moms over the years. I envision their photos as push pins on a timeline, marking big moments with their moms – from weddings to graduations to the birth of kids to seemingly insignificant moments like sitting on the couch at home or in the backyard during summer. Entire generations and well-lived lives are captured in a 90-second reel or a carousel of photos. Some I know IRL and some I’ll never meet face to face or really ever know. But in these moments, we are connected. I send them air hugs, post heart stickers, and prayer hand emojis to show my genuine care. Sometimes I wonder if I could do more.
They share photos of themselves as children decked out in matching outfits with their siblings as their moms hold their little hands and smile for the camera. Or maybe they share photos of themselves as teens, blossoming into their womanhood, yet still under their mom’s protective gaze. They pose in satin dresses with tulle and sequins flanked by artificial plants atop white pedestals and a muted cloth backdrop. They stand while mom sits, glowing and peaceful, deserving of the rest. I also see the photos they post of their moms when they were young. Black and white pictures or in sepia tones of their moms before they were even moms. Young women with their own memories, childhoods and futures ahead of them. Shrewd and beautiful women turned lovers and wives and then mothers who poured themselves into their babies, their men, their jobs, their communities and, hopefully, sometimes even themselves.
Sometimes they share family photos that show me their roots in the faces of their grandmothers, grandmamas, GiGIs, Mee-Maws, Big Mamas or Ma’Dears. They let me in to whatever sweet epithet they called their mother’s mother. In these moments, I am a family friend, sharing in their love, sadness or both. Through these posts, I get a chance to bear witness and be a part of their stories. I’m given access to the inside joke but never fully grasp the punchline. My doom scrolling is brightened, even elevated by their meaningful moments.
I’ve seen posts from moms who choose to celebrate themselves on Mother’s Day because they feel the world, or even their families, don’t support them enough. I react to those posts with a heart or a double tap in solidarity because their truth is their truth.
On Mother’s Day, my social media is a place where adult daughters and sons pay tribute to moms who didn’t always get it right. They share emotional messages with their moms who sometimes didn’t show up at all or showed up all the time. They post superlatives to describe moms who sacrificed so much and left behind a legacy. And even more messages to moms who they may describe as imperfect but always trying.
On Mother’s Day, my social media is a place where adult daughters and sons tag their moms in Mother’s Day memes with sparkly flowers and cursive fonts with sweet sayings they believe in, but don’t have the words to say themselves. They use social media to build a bridge because they choose not to communicate regularly, or ever, but honor the love that remains even in the estrangement. My social media friends sometimes share it all or maybe just a little. They may pay homage to their queens – living and beyond or serve up hard honesty about the mothers they wished they’d had.
I have social media friends who are finding their place in a world without the mom they’d always known because illness, dementia or Alzheimer’s has impacted their mom’s golden years. I imagine the longing for the familiar while keeping pace with a new normal is a weight only fellow caretakers can truly understand. When they don’t know what words to post, sometimes they simply share pictures of their hand holding their mom’s hand. A close-up shot of fingers, intertwined and connected. Those pictures don’t always come with a caption. And even with no words, I take heed to what my social media friend is saying. There is a knowing there. On Mother’s Day, these posts remind me that the saying the days are long, but the years are short doesn’t only apply to parents with young children, but also to adult children who are making decisions that they never quite feel ready for. Even still, they rise to the occasion because that’s what their mom would have done for them.
On Mother’s Day, my social media is a landmine of emotions. I not only receive the flood of feelings, I welcome it.
I accept that social media as a virtual release for some. A place where they can yell into the void or receive empathy in moments they need it most. I’m ok with that. I honor that and I honor them. And with that, this Mother’s Day, I invite it all.
By Arika Parr
My mom hates it when I say this. She hates it because the phrase automatically exudes gloom and doom. And that’s not what I mean at all.
It’s not because I’m ill or expecting some disastrous outcome. I’m teaching my 8-year-old daughter, Ava, to live without me because it’s important to me that she feels comfortable in her own power.
I want Ava to be eager to live. To have a voracious appetite for experiences and adventure. I want her to eat life up with as much enthusiasm as she has for Taco Tuesdays. I want her to hunger for it. Have a healthy affection for curiosity and creativity so she’s always exploring the why while creating and owning her now.
I help her stay curious by encouraging her inclination for the unfamiliar. I have many proud mom moments, but one of my top five is her willingness to try new foods. It seems like a small marker, but for me, it’s a huge testament that the seed of this “self-sufficiency” I’ve been nurturing inside of her is taking root. Her appetite has never been an issue for me, even when she was a toddler. I joke that Ava has a more mature palette than I do. It’s the truth. You can salmon and mashed potato me most days of the week, and I’ll be satisfied. But not her, she’s more daring than me when trying new foods.
Another thing that makes me proud is Ava’s negotiation skills. She pushes the envelope, and I don’t mind it because she does it respectfully. And if I’m not careful, I could sometimes miss that she’s doing it all. I think it’s a top-tier attribute for sure. Almost reverse psychology, now that I think about it. The push and pull of the bedtime routine, or the request for an extra treat, is often resolved with real-deal negotiation tactics. I allow her to reason with me. She offers to eat a couple more pieces of broccoli in exchange for a Cotton Candy Dum Dum. Or she’ll request 5 more minutes of Netflix in exchange for her sleeping in her own bed. Wait. That last one might be manipulation, but a win is a win when it comes to me getting my bed all to myself!
The point is that she looks for alternatives. She seeks out ways to get what she wants AND ways to please the powers that be, me. But she understands that it’s not just about me, it’s about her, too. I love that for her. I just read a quote that said:
“TREAT YOURSELF WELL, WITHOUT HARMING OTHERS. TREAT OTHERS WELL, WITHOUT HARMING YOURSELF.”
As simple as the idea is, I think it’s a lesson that is often said, but not executed well. Especially for women. It’s a space that I’ve not always found myself comfortable in.
These are lessons that I am just now, in the middle of my life, fully accepting. Maybe that’s why I admire it and nurture it in Ava so much. I am in a position in my life to teach her early what I learned late. I am cognizant of not ever trying to live vicariously through her, but helping her, slowly and carefully, unearth a path that is uniquely her own. I feel it’s my duty as her mom.
And while I’m preparing her to live without me, I want to be her co-pilot for as long as I can. A part of that is her knowing that she doesn’t have to do it alone. When those moments come, when she has to summon courage, insight, or trust in herself – even at 8 years old, my prayer is that she does so with confidence, stability, and the understanding that she is not alone, even if I am not standing next to her.
Those are the lessons I want her to learn so she can live without me. How to be open to the unfamiliar. How to negotiate so she can get what she wants. Knowing that self-neglect is not an option. That denying herself or being a martyr is not a worthy award to seek out. I’m teaching my daughter to live without me so she can be the most self-assured and self-affirmed little girl now and adult woman in the future.
I also allow my daughter to question me. This is a challenging lesson to allow, to be honest, because it’s vastly different than how I was reared. I remember having a conversation with a friend about our childhood. We weren’t allowed to question our parents or any elders. Asking “why?” was deemed disrespectful and grounds for a tongue-lashing. As an adult, I understand our elders were doing what they were taught. It stemmed from a long tradition of teaching kids to be seen and not heard. But as a mom, and as a mom to Ava in particular (because all kids are different), I understand now that not being able to question and be curious with the people who I knew best, made me second guess myself with certain decisions as I grew older.
For my friend, he shared that always being told what to do and not being able to question it, made it harder for him to make decisions as an adult. When discussing with another friend and mom, she shared that not being able to question her parents forced her to find answers among peers. And those peers oftentimes were unreliable resources with little to no experience and precarious advice.
If there is no space to lovingly inquire as a kid, it’s hard to create your own trust circle for yourself as a teen, and then finally as an adult. The lack of self-trust stalks us our entire lives. We unknowingly wear it as a second skin, a covering that hides our true inner voice. Not being able to question as a kid, robs us of the most important relationship we’ll ever have: our relationship with self. I can admit to making some poor decisions because I didn’t trust myself enough. I was insecure and self-conscious, which resulted in a lack of boundaries for myself and others. My hope, in allowing Ava to question me, helps lay the framework for her self-trust, positive self-talk, and self-encouragement.
So yes, I’m teaching my daughter to live without me. Not in the way of paying bills, keeping a home, or finding a career … while that’s important, that’s not always living. I’m teaching her to live without me so she can hear her own voice in her mind when she needs an encouraging word. I am teaching her to live without me so when she seeks a warm heart and a shoulder to cry on, she is accustomed to checking in with herself first, then branching out to others for fellowship and comfort. I’m teaching my daughter to live without me so she is grounded and bound tight with love of self.
May the seeds that I am nurturing now turn into runways that lead her to fantastic travels with sticky memories, amazing friendships with people with genuine hearts, a life of wanderlust, self-discovery, and endless Taco Tuesdays.
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