Mother's Day Times Three

I know Mother's Day only comes once a year (which is probably a good thing given how disappointed we moms tend to get over the slights - perceived or real - of our significant other and/or offspring) but this year my celebration somehow managed to span a full seventy-two hours.

Day One - The Festival of Motherhood commenced on Saturday. Since it was the only day that all the moms in my immediate family could gather, we decided to jump the gun. Leave those exorbitant Sunday brunches for the suckers who insist on celebrating when Hallmark tells them to, we reasoned, we will have our pick of any restaurant our little hearts desire. It sounded so good in theory. What we didn't factor in was having to include the two newest members of the family (the ones who made my niece and daughter eligible to participate in this year's celebration) in the festivities since both of the new dads were otherwise engaged. Don't get me wrong, they were a joy to share the table with - for the first hour or so anyway. After that, it was a mad scramble to gather up the uneaten onion straws and slurp down that last gulp of Sangria before the occasional glances coming our way turned into icy stares.

We finished up the afternoon back at Gigi's (my mom's new great-grandma moniker) place, trying to squeeze some conversation between emergency baby-proofing and diaper changes; the highlight of Day One being my sweet daughter's gift - a framed love letter to her mother (that girl sure knows how to bring on the waterworks) complete with beautiful embellishments surrounding pictures of the two of us. Other than making any subsequent photos a soggy mess, this was the kind of gift that we moms dream about. Consider this day a solid B+.

Day Two - This was the real one; the one where your hubby is supposed to bring you breakfast in bed and your kids are encouraged to fawn all over you as they remind you what an amazing mother you have been as they drown you with flowers and Mimosas. (A girl can dream, can't she?). In reality, I was up at 8, baking two kinds of bread and pulling out all the stops for a fabulous breakfast for what I thought would be my entire family. In their defense, I offered to do this since it was my daughter's first Mother's Day but still, I was expecting a bit more help from the men in my life - one of whom didn't even show up as he somehow misunderstood the order of the day and thought he was coming for dinner. Oh well, I think my daughter appreciated it. This one gets an A for the food (if I do say so myself) and the chance to make my girl's day special and a D- for having to cook and clean up on a day when I'm not supposed to have to do any of that stuff.

Day Three - My confused son wanted to make it up to me so he showed up today, very contrite and eager to show me just how much he cared. He brought me a card with a heartfelt note inside, took me to lunch, spent several hours tooling around Costco and Walmart, and even made time to pop in on the sister he had failed to wish a happy first Mother's Day (hey, she wasn't his mother). This last hurrah rates a B after deducting a few points for my son's late arrival.

When he backed out of the driveway, I felt nothing but relief that the next Mother's Day was 364 days away. After all these years, you would think I would know that it never lives up to the unrealistic expectations foisted on us by greeting cards and sitcoms. I've rarely gotten breakfast in bed (too messy), I've been disappointed in every over-priced brunch I've ever eaten, and I don't want or need anymore stuff proclaiming my position as world's greatest mom. I may have a momentary twinge of self-pity when I don't receive the pampering I mistakenly believe every other mother is receiving while I'm loading the dishwasher but I know in my heart that the moments to savor are the ones that happen on every other day of the year not singled out as Mother's Day.

And I'm lucky enough to have a family that gives me plenty of those - enough for me to get through every second Sunday in May that doesn't go exactly as I would like it to.

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?

Back in the Backyard

Yesterday was one of those rare days when I got to have both my children hanging around the old homestead. Granted, I didn't get the pleasure of my son's company for very long but I console myself with the fact that a) he did remember it was Mother's Day and b) he actually purchased a card and took the time to fill out a funny, if not a bit insulting, book detailing what he loved about his mother. As I've said before, I'll take what I can get.

After sharing a pizza on the deck, (I sure wasn't cooking and it didn't look like anyone else was either), I watched as my kids picked up a long-forgotten frisbee and started throwing it around the yard. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I couldn't help remembering all the fun we've had in the park-like lawn behind our house. An endless parade of lawn darts, Slip and Slides and badminton nets have made their way through that space but it's been quiet for awhile. It was great to see them out there, laughing and trying to outdo each other. Unfortunately, my daughter has inherited her mother's inability to throw an object anywhere near the intended receiver so there was little chance of her ever being able to match her brother's effortless athletic prowess. Still, they were having fun; fun which only intensified when they coerced me into playing. After all, there's nothing that brings siblings together like shared ridicule of one of their parents. So what if I'm their favorite target? So what if I kept throwing that stupid thing into the deck railing (which was only ten feet away and a mere ninety degree angle from its target)? It was almost worth the humiliation to watch my son and daughter fall to the ground in fits of laughter.

I've decided I can handle a little bit of ridicule if it results in the four of us spending more time together. If that's all it takes, I'm happy to take the fall.

Mother's Day Treasures

When my kids were little, I knew I would get thoughtful gifts for Mother's Day I'd like to say that my husband took them by their little hands every year and lovingly helped them craft keepsakes for me but more often than not, it was their teachers. Many of my most cherished gifts were created in the classroom. Aprons with tiny hand prints, books with charmingly misspelled words, necklaces made out of various pasta shapes; I have my children's elementary teachers to thank for all of them.

As they got older, their dad's reminders (and, I suspect, his financial subsidies) assured me of a steady stream of flowers and trinkets bought and wrapped at the last minute. They were appreciated but I missed the thought and effort that had gone into their art projects. But I held out hope that some day, without a teacher or father to pressure them, they would again put a little time and energy into Mother's Day.

Today, I got my wish.

It didn't start well. When I woke up, I was alone. Not that I minded. I settled in with the paper and a freshly baked croissant (thank you, Trader Joes). So much for breakfast in bed. Before long, my daughter arrived with a beautiful card and an even more beautiful hand-written note. That wasn't such a surprise. For some time, she's been a thoughtful, creative gift-giver. She's also made it clear that her intention is to make me cry with each card she presents me.

The real shocker was my son. I knew he had been making progress when it came to holidays; i.e. actually being aware of them. Last Christmas he did a great job, choosing thoughtful, useful gifts for the entire family. But, today, he outdid himself by picking up a book called "What I Love About You" and filling in every page with loving, as well as, hilarious commentary. I loved it more than I've loved any gift since that macaroni necklace.

So, here's to the moms who are still waiting for their kids to appreciate them. I'm here to tell you to hang in there. It's gonna happen. It may take awhile but when it does, I promise you it's gonna feel really good.