Fellow moms of this planet, our day has come and gone. We must wait a whole ‘nother year to feel loved and appreciated, to receive ceramic pencil holders and pasta necklaces and to earn an eight-hour reprieve from dishes and laundry. This most recent Mother’s Day differed dramatically from my first, when morning sickness kept me close to cold tiled floors, although interestingly, the same kid is to blame! Let’s pause to ponder the evolution of your favorite columnist’s Mother’s Days, shall we?
In the first few years, I can’t say I looked forward to the second Sunday in May. I hadn’t yet learned how to articulate my expectations, and more often than not ended up covered in vomit or baby poop as I cried myself to sleep. No flowers, no shopping, no mimosas. MD was just like any other day with four small children: mind-numbing, lonely and exhausting.
Shortly into 2005, realization dawned. All I needed to do was leave the house and not return until nightfall. My husband Doo knew how to open a can of Spagettios, change a diaper and dial 911; I was a moot point! So my annual sojourn morphed into a twelve-to-fourteen hour guilt-free “Me Spree,” that included malls, movies, manicures and McDonald’s. And on the two occasions when illness or family commitments hijacked my “moment,” I simply called a “redo.” If I only get one day, dammit, it will happen, come hell or high fever.
Over the last few years however, I’ve felt the urge to spend Mother’s Day closer to home. I still go to brunch with friends and do a little bargain hunting, but I’m usually back before dinner to enjoy mandatory “Be Nice to Mom” time with my minions. And even though this year didn’t quite play out as I’d hoped – receiving a call in Stein Mart from your newly-licensed driver after he’s caused a fender-bender dampens the mood somewhat – I did appreciate the opportunity to pamper myself while it lasted.
Here’s wishing you a belated Happy Mother’s Day. [Seriously, he’d had his license for four days!]