A Boston Cream Pie Like No Other, By Danny

This year, we have been sharing our Labor of Love stories with you. Some have been about products and some have been about personal experiences, but they’ve all reflected on our appreciation for the handmade, the hard-won, and the heartfelt.  To honor this weekend’s holiday, we wanted to pay tribute to the biggest labor of love of all: motherhood. We hope you enjoy our stories—and feel inspired to share one of your own with us. Or, even better, share it with the special ones near to you.

In my household growing up, my mother could whip up a dessert in less time than an episode of Family Ties. Her forte: baked goods. Specifically pies. My absolute favorite pie in her arsenal: Boston Cream Pie. She made it only on special occasions. If it was my birthday, I requested a Boston Cream Pie. After I crashed my first car in high school, I had a Boston Cream Pie. When I moved away for art school, I was welcomed home with a Boston Cream Pie (she made two for that).

Over the years, I’ve tried the Boston Cream Pie offerings at many a restaurant and bakery. Nothing I’ve found has ever come close.

Recently I was in Boston with an evening to kill. I did a quick google search and found that Boston Cream Pie originated at a famous hotel still in existence. I made my way to the Parker House on School Street. I sat myself down and ordered one thing. The Parker House version was very good. But it still couldn’t compare to my mother’s.

Labor for Love, by Alysa

This year, we have been sharing our Labor of Love stories with you. Some have been about products and some have been about personal experiences, but they’ve all reflected on our appreciation for the handmade, the hard-won, and the heartfelt.  To honor this weekend’s holiday, we wanted to pay tribute to the biggest labor of love of all: motherhood. We hope you enjoy our stories—and feel inspired to share one of your own with us. Or, even better, share it with the special ones near to you.

My grandma Muriel labored. She worked on a farm as a young girl out of necessity, mothered two children out of love, and filled paid and volunteer positions out of a desire to be of service.

I didn’t live near her, but I got to visit once a year or so, and forged a closer relationship with her in my college years. I remember how filled her days were, going to the office, visiting friends who needed an extra hand, and driving for the blind.

I’ve never thought about it this way, but I think Muriel taught me how to labor FOR love—give and you shall receive.

Now I have children of my own. Two boys, 13 and 16. I have labored outside our home their entire lives. So has my husband. For things to “work” in our household, everyone needs to “work.” My kids usually make their own breakfast and lunch, and find their way to school on time. I’m proud of their independence and the skills we are teaching them—including a strong work ethic. Yet there are also some mornings when I want nothing more than to put breakfast on the table for them, place mat, napkin, and all. Today it was waffles with strawberries (not from scratch). Some mornings it might just be hot cocoa or a smoothie. But no matter how elaborate—or not—the meal is, the labor I do for my sons warms my heart (and I think theirs, too).

My Mother Joined the Circus, by Maud

This year, we have been sharing our Labor of Love stories with you. Some have been about products and some have been about personal experiences, but they’ve all reflected on our appreciation for the handmade, the hard-won, and the heartfelt.  To honor this weekend’s holiday, we wanted to pay tribute to the biggest labor of love of all: motherhood. We hope you enjoy our stories—and feel inspired to share one of your own with us. Or, even better, share it with the special ones near to you.

While my brothers and I were growing up, my mom, like most moms, was always working. A whirl of activity from morning till night, she’d leap out of bed, make our breakfasts, pack our lunches, and get us—and herself!—off to school. For years she worked as a teacher’s assistant during the day and went to college at night to earn her teaching degree. Later, as a classroom teacher, she continued to pursue higher education and received her master’s degree as a reading specialist.

But all along, through all that work, she had a dream. She wanted to join the circus.

Her father had also loved the circus, and whenever it came to town he would do a neighborhood sweep—any and all available children were invited to climb into the bed of his pickup truck and go to the big top. My mom adored everything about those mini-vacations: the elephants, the clowns, the strong men, the trapeze artist… And that dream stuck with her.

Once she had children of her own, she would take us to the park to swing. As we flew back and forth, she would sing: She swings through the air, with the greatest of ease, she’s the daring young girl on the flying trapeze!

When Mom retired from teaching, she promised to take a year off. No working! We wanted this for her very badly. (See paragraph 1, re: always working.) She agreed. But like that daring young girl on the flying trapeze, she doesn’t like to sit still. About six months in to her mandatory year off, she informed her children she’d applied to be the Ringling Bros. Barnum & Bailey Circus teacher. Moreover, they’d offered her the job. Dad knew and was on board for the adventure.

Naturally, we were agog. She and my dad rented out their house, packed a suitcase or two (there wasn’t much room on the circus train car), and joined The Greatest Show on Earth. She taught the performers’ children. He sold concessions. His voice was the first you would hear upon entering: Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages! Her voice, behind the scenes, was the one every kid needs: that of a consistent, capable teacher.

Mom and Dad traveled with the circus for almost six months. And guess what? It was hard work. Really hard work. But man oh man, did they have fun. They got to know the elephants, the clowns, the strong men. And my mom, after all these years, got to know the trapeze artist. Not the one in the circus, but the one she’d kept inside for all those years: herself. I saw it. I saw her stand with my dad on the platform called Regular Life and leap onto the swing known as Following Your Crazy Dream. With the greatest of ease, she was then, is now, and always will be my daring young mom on the flying trapeze.

A weekend getaway in Southern Oregon, halfway between Ringling Bros.' San Francisco stop and Portland, OR.

Full Circle, by Janelle

This year, we have been sharing our Labor of Love stories with you. Some have been about products and some have been about personal experiences, but they’ve all reflected on our appreciation for the handmade, the hard-won, and the heartfelt.  To honor this weekend’s holiday, we wanted to pay tribute to the biggest labor of love of all: motherhood. We hope you enjoy our stories—and feel inspired to share one of your own with us. Or, even better, share it with the special ones near to you.

My mom's locket, which I now wear, with pictures of me and my sister

Much as it pains me to admit, I am a grown-up. A full-blown adult. Now that I’m in my late 30s, I am staring maturity full in the face. I’m also stringing it around my neck, setting my table with it, and placing it around my home: I wear my mom’s jewelry, own the same set of fancy china, and decorate with her things.

It started with a pair of bright orange glass candlesticks from the ’60s. I thought they were funny, and they matched my sofa. That was 15 years ago. In the intervening period, my mom’s stuff stopped looking so-ugly-they’re-cute and started looking…cool.

These days, I regularly ask my mom if I can have certain items—mostly pieces from my childhood. A few months ago, she called to say she’d seen a full set of our family china at a consignment shop. Those delicate plates and cups we only used on holidays, that I was always terrified of breaking—did I want them? You bet.

I am now moving into a new house. Soon I’ll head up to Seattle to pick up my latest hand-me-down: the dining room set my mom inherited from her mom. The next time we sit down for a family dinner—in my house, with my mom’s china pattern and my grandmother’s table—I’ll celebrate my mother’s influence. And I’ll celebrate that growing up is as much about leaving childish things behind as it is about reclaiming them.

Mother’s Day Tough Breaks, by Nicole

This year, we have been sharing our Labor of Love stories with you. Some have been about products and some have been about personal experiences, but they’ve all reflected on our appreciation for the handmade, the hard-won, and the heartfelt.  To honor this weekend’s holiday, we wanted to pay tribute to the biggest labor of love of all: motherhood. We hope you enjoy our stories—and feel inspired to share one of your own with us. Or, even better, share it with the special ones near to you.

Goofing around with mom at a family wedding

My mom worked hard to raise me, mostly by herself. I was the one of the only girls in the family—it was me, my older brother, seven uncles, and mostly male cousins. Maybe it was no big surprise that I was always much happier digging in the yard or riding my bike (a black BMX-style number) than I ever was wearing a dress or playing with dolls. My mom knew I wasn’t a kid who could sit still much, so she always encouraged me to go outside and play.

Unfortunately, all this rough-and-tumble activity came with a downside. I am a little (OK, a lot) accident prone. So while I have many fond memories of my mom from growing up, so many of them are of her trying to make me feel better. She nursed me through five broken wrists, one broken collar bone, one broken finger, one nearly severed finger, a tonsillectomy, wisdom teeth removal, some other crazy oral surgery (I am in dental record books!), and most recently, foot surgery in February.

I’ll confess that I am no easy patient, but my mom has always dropped everything to make sure I had what I needed when I needed her most.

Thanks Mom. And Happy Mother’s Day from your “Tough Break Kid.”