Mother’s Day has never been a big deal for me. Until we moved from California to New England, it never occurred to me that how a family celebrated Mother’s Day—or didn’t—was considered by some women to indicate just how good (or bad) a mother they were. Imagine my surprise on the first Monday-After-Mother’s-Day in Connecticut when most of the women in my gym exchanged stories about the elaborate celebrations their children had organized for Mom’s Very Special Day. There were brunches at the local hotel, flowers, chocolates, tributes of all sorts.
Early on I told my three kids that I considered Mothers Day a “Hallmark Holiday,” and they needn’t buy me presents, though they could make me cards if they liked. Uncharacteristically, they took me at my word. Case in point—the “card” at the top of this page. Sara was in elementary school and Ben was so young he wrote the “B” in his name backwards, but neither one was too young to make (unfair and undeserved) fun of me on my Very Special Day.
The prize, however, goes to my youngest, Nathaniel, who responded to a nursery school prompt of “Is your mother pretty?” with, “Well, she’s pretty, but she’s pretty ugly in the morning.” This would have been funny and not as unfair as the “cocktail card,” had it not been that this page was one of twenty in a collated booklet for all the moms in his nursery school, right alongside a little girl’s description of her “beautiful Mommy” who “exercises every day.”
I am writing this on Mothers Day and wishing all you mothers out there–good, bad, or a little lacking–Happy Mothers Day!
AND HAVE A GOOD WEEK!
