Not So Great Expectations

Since yesterday was my 27th Mother's Day celebration, I had a pretty good idea how it would go down. I felt confident that I was not going to be whisked off in a limo for a relaxing day at the spa or be handed tickets for a three day culinary cruise to Bermuda. Maybe stuff like that really happens to the rich and famous (or wives with incredibly guilt-ridden husbands) but I was pretty sure it wasn't going to happen to me. What I did expect was a couple of cards, maybe a flower or two and some heartfelt Facebook postings about "being the best mom ever".

I wasn't far off, except for the whole cooking my own breakfast thing. I didn't see that one coming.

With one of my kids (the boy who barely remembers Christmas) out of town, it fell to my pregnant daughter to take one for the team. She and her new hubby gave me a brightly-colored box filled with tiny slips of paper extolling my various virtues. While mine ("You bought me that cool bacon cooker") could hardly be compared to the list that Chelsea Clinton might have given Hillary ("Thanks for helping find Bin Laden"), it never hurts to hear your kids say nice things about you.

Once my son finally got home (after a nasty thunderstorm diverted his plane to Detroit), he promised me a lunch at the place of my choice, which I hastily collected this afternoon. With his imminent departure to the Pacific Time Zone looming, I'm not messing around. So I didn't get a mushy (or even funny) card from him (although I did get a sweet one from his girlfriend). I got something even
better - a sincere, "Love you" and pineapple/mango gelato. He's a man of few words but he knows about priorities.

Despite doing work than I wanted to yesterday (couldn't someone have handed me a glass of Sangria while I was making that bruschetta?), it turned out to be a very special day. And it didn't have anything to do with gifts, cards, or spa treatments. It had everything to do with getting the chance to be a part of my niece's very first Mother's Day. She, very much like her aunt, waited a long time to see her dream of becoming a mom come true and as I watched her dote on her adorable little guy, I felt transported back to those early days of motherhood; the days when you can't get enough sleep but don't really care; the days when you will do anything to provoke a laugh from a ten pound human being; the days when you thank God every fifteen seconds for bringing this tiny person into your life.

My daughter will be in those shoes next year. And I'll be promoted to "grandma" (or "Mimi" or "Oma" - I haven't decided yet).

With macaroni necklaces and handprint t-shirts in my future, who needs another pedicure?

Let It Rain

After having lived in a neighborhood that looks more like a field of hay than the lush suburban lawns I'm used to, I found myself breaking into a little jig at the sound of rain on my rooftop last night. Since we haven't had more than an inch or two of rain all summer, I think I can be forgiven for reacting in a lame, old Hollywood western settler kind of way. Besides, I don't think anyone saw me.

I've always been a sucker for a good thunderstorm; it didn't take a drought to make me appreciate rain. I've always loved the feel of a sun-shower's cool raindrops on sweaty skin; the persistent clatter on the skylight as the sheets of water fall off the roof; jumping puddles in strappy sandals. I could live without the worms that dot the driveway after a downpour but everything else about the skies opening up puts a smile on my face (as long as it doesn't wash away an outdoor party I've been planning for weeks).

What I love more than anything about a good old-fashioned thunderstorm is the feeling of gratitude that washes over me every time I experience one. There's nothing better than huddling under the covers, listening to the peals of thunder, knowing that I'm safely tucked inside my house. There's nothing sweeter than seeing lightning split the dark sky, knowing that I'm lucky enough to have shelter. Tucked inside the confines of my home, I can appreciate all of God's glory and all of nature's power as I drift off to sleep.

What could be better than that?

There But For the Grace

For the last few days we've been shown a steady stream of images from hell. What the people of Japan are going through is hard to imagine but the pictures of devastation and loss can't help but encourage all of us to hold our loved ones a little closer. Hearing stories of children ripped out of their mothers' arms or seeing an old man standing on the remnants of his roof as it drifts out to sea has a way of putting things into perspective.

But why does it take tragedy to make us appreciate our blessings? Are we so wrapped up in our day to day routines that we can't stop doing long enough to just be? Are we so addicted to stimuli that we are unable to tolerate quiet? I don't know. It seems to be so easy these days to lose sight of what's important; so easy to forget that our days on this planet are numbered. Do we really want to be spending them texting, surfing the internet and talking incessantly on our cell phones? God, I hope not.

The Parents Are Coming, The Parents Are Coming

One of the worst things about getting older is the fact that your parents are getting older too. After attending the funeral of the mother of one of my co-worker's, I spent this weekend reflecting on just how lucky I am to have both of my parents in my life. At eighty, they are still relatively healthy, able to participate in most family activities (okay, bowling is out) and live just a short distance from our home. They are two of the most generous, kind, intelligent people you would ever want to meet and I know how blessed I am to have them swimming in my gene pool.

How do you ever let such special people know how much you appreciate them? I have no idea. There is no way I can ever repay them for the loving, secure foundation they provided me. There is no way I can ever make up for all the money spent, hours worked or all the other sacrifices they have made to ensure my health and happiness. Now that I have adult children who are struggling to find their place in the world, I realize more than ever what a great combination of love and discipline; support and encouragement my own parents were able to provide. Now that I think of it, I'm getting a little angry. Why did they have to go and set the bar so damn high? It just makes the rest of us look bad.

Since it's impossible for me to truly show them how grateful I am to have had them as parents, I'm opting for doing the next best thing - feeding them. Every Sunday they have a standing invitation for dinner accompanied by HD baseball/football/golf/whatever. The sport isn't important; it's just an excuse to get them to come down for a few hours of conversation and gluttony. It's not always fine dining (yesterday it was Sloppy Joe's and pound cake) but they always make me feel as if it is. Great. Just one more thing I have to thank them for.