Monday, May 14th, 2018
At Last!! A Perfect Mother’s Day
Mother’s Day is one of those holidays that can get ruined by the heavy sense of obligation that it carries. And pain. And confusion. And falsehood.
Wow. I just read what I wrote. I had an uncomplicated relationship with my mom. Loved giving to her. Easy to do.I used to go to Woolworths on the way home from choir practice and buy her a cookie. Or I would stop at Planter’s Peanuts and buy her warm broken cashew pieces if a skinny bag hard to get into with fingers. Warm cashew pieces. I can smell them now as I write. I always bought her a lily for Easter and pressed felt slippers for Christmas–all from Woolworth’s.
I am a mom by birth and a mom by choice. And a formerly broken hearted mom after divorce shredded my first family. So all holidays had a little extra tenderness and complication. From all my years at work with women sharing and laughing and commiserating,I know that moms and their families are fraught with holiday crazies. I smile as I write. I am watching my five year old granddaughter today and I am thinking how hard sharing is at any age.
So I am proud to announce that I had a perfect Mother’s Day. My granddaughter Issa (5 years old) spent the night and I woke up to her crawling in bed with me to read. She read to me. “Mat is mad. h Kit is sad. Sam did nap.” Such hard earnest work her mouth exaggerating every work.
Next Issa and I went to visit my son and his wife and daughter, Flori. Flori just turned four. The two girls don’t play together often but when they do they are oddly compatible and each acts like a gracious host to the other. They hug and hold hands with no posturing involved. They each have a squirt bottle and spray the parked cars getting them “Squeaky Clean” while the grown-ups talk. They are thorough earnest workers. Next we have a picnic on the lawn with a strawberry chocolate custard cake and coffee. My daughter-in-law-grew up in Sweden and this is a kind of Ficca or Swedish tea. We are (ready for this word?) gentile. It’s lovely.
I drop Issa off at her house and go beck home to watch the last segment of British Menu where the chefs prepar their prize winning dished to Olympic Champions. I nod off to a great indulgent nap.
I’m invited to dinner at my daughter’s house. Megan. I use her name freely because she is her own kind of rock star on Facebook. No privacy concerns in my youngest kid. Issa asks me to give her a bath and I sit on the toilet with coffee in one hand and wine in the other timing her underwater dunks. Then dinner and chat with Megan and her beau and I head home to read in bed.
I had phone calls waiting from the West coast kids and a gift of a great happy happy “throw” with great graphic cactus on it. My Oregon daughter knows what I like.
So it happens. A perfect Mother’s Day.
PS. I’ll be writing on Tueaday because Issa day has changed to Monday. I have missed all of you and was glad to be missed. I’ve been on the road with a quirky new computer and way too much muchness. Thus Mother’s Day was a damn perfect miracle in my life.