I didn’t have the energy to summon Mother’s Day yesterday. I couldn’t think about it, I couldn’t write about it, I couldn’t even get annoyed with myself for being melodramatic about it. It just was what it was – and what it was, was over. Thank god.
I have great kids. I know this. I know this and I’m thankful for them. Don’t think I’m not. But Sunday? Sunday they were rotten kids. Sunday they went to church and they were fine. They presented me with their gifts when they came home and were loving and lovely while they showed off their cards and the potted flowers they brought back from church and the keychain they bought me (with Stepmom’s help) that shows how to travel by map from Tejas back to Mass., and the giftcard for cheesecake. And Bee was tickled to show me the blueberry bushes – another piece of home – that she had smuggled to our house with Auntie Kim’s help. And lo, it was good.
But then lo, it was bad. Bad, bad, bad. I asked Gracie to empty the dishwasher, and all I got was whining and attitude. Even after I reminded her that it was Mother’s Day. And then there was a round of “let’s complain about everything Mom offers for lunch.” And then Bee abandoned the omelets she was making us so I had to finish them. The front room wasn’t cleaned when I asked. Gracie complained when I asked her to help me put away the laundry, and then walked away and pretended she couldn’t hear me. Then Bee walked away in the middle of me helping her to call Grandma to talk to everyone back home. So I announced in the middle of the living room, “You know what? I give up.” And then I dropped the phone where I was standing and walked into my bedroom and slammed the door.
Childish, yes. But hopefully more effective than what had been falling on deaf ears. And if it wasn’t? Well, I could just take a nap.
And so I did.
When I woke up, I packed up the girls and took us over to Jeff’s. X-man gave me a beautiful stone paperweight (that might turn into a doorstopper) and bookmark, and then the kiddos played video games while I had a glass of wine and some cheese. After X-man’s mom picked him up, we all went out for some Irish Nachos (official sponsor of rescuing Mother’s Days everywhere) and gorged on West Wing when we got back to the house.
They can’t all be fantastic Mother’s Days, but at least mine ended well and everyone was still alive at the end of it. Even if it was by the skin of their teeth.
Some years it’s like that – the whining and the rain and the defiance, even though I am constantly reminding them, “Hey, it’s Mother’s Day!”