My children asked me want I wanted for Mother’s Day. I thought for about all of a nanosecond before responding, “I want a day of peace. I want there to be no bickering, no fighting, no mocking, and most importantly, only encouraging words should be spoken.”
Their eyes lit up like Christmas trees, thinking that they’d gotten off easy and that this particular gift would require no one dipping into their plastic bank.
I was taken out to Bob Evan’s for breakfast, only because had we gone to my favorite breakfast haunt, Cracker Barrel, we’d still be there waiting. Our starving bodies prone under the wooden rocking chairs on the front stoop.
The breakfast went without incident, as did church service.
However, the ride home was fraught with a good deal of STOP LOOKING AT ME, MOM, HE TOUCHED ME, MOM, SHE WHISPERED A BAD WORD, MOM, MOM, MOM. OW!!!!!!
I wondered to myself if it would be bad form to take a pass through the drive-through liquor store immediately after leaving church.
The day went downhill after that.
More bad words were whispered, a punch or two was thrown, many tears were shed, and there was a volley of something to the affect of I WISH YOU WEREN’T MY SISTER (and I’m paraphrasing) between two siblings.
In other words, it was one of those days that I wondered why God entrusted me with children.
Now remember, we’re living in a household with one pre-menopausal mother, two tweens hurtling toward puberty, and one small boy with a penchant for HIGH STRUNG.
Fiddledaddy is really the only one of us with two normal brain cells to rub together. If that gives you any indication of the level of crazy with which we face.
He was able to talk everyone down from the ceiling fans, and then apologies, I love you’s, and hugs followed. We had to watch the hugs closely as I suspect one sibling may have been trying to suffocate another.
And then, blissfully, Fiddledaddy took the children away to the grandparents for a swim. Allowing me to do whatever the heck I wanted.
When the going gets tough, the tough head to Goodwill. Which has been a favorite haunt of mine for many many years. I have some of my best moments spent with my own mother in various Goodwill and thrift stores, from the time I was quite small to the last Mother’s Day I ever spent with her before she died.
I posted this picture of my mother to my Facebook page to commemorate Mother’s Day.
It was taken when she was in her late tweens, or early 20’s, and she was submitting herself for a modeling contest in New York. The company that was sponsoring her was a dress shop in her hometown of Mineral Wells, Texas. She wasn’t accepted, and I have the rejection letter she received in a box of old papers. Thus putting an end to her modeling aspirations.
What tickled me were the amount of people that I know who posted, “That is Emme!” And indeed, I’ve always thought that my first born looked so much like my mother. It was wonderful to know that I’m not the only person who sees the resemblance.
My mother would be proud. She wanted so much to be a grandmother. She would understand days like today, and if she were here, I’m certain she would console me. And giggle because of all that I put her through when I was in my formidable pubescent years.
Karma. It is a bear. And motherhood is not for the faint of heart.
Happy Mother’s Day, my friends.