RISING SUN - The days leading up to Mother’s Day Sunday, I felt myself becoming less and less excited about the whole holiday.
Having lost my mom about five years ago, and several other mother figures since, it has been a hard holiday for me to get into, despite being a mom myself.
Mother’s Day to me always felt like the holiday for the matriarch, and now that I didn’t have one, I felt like I wasn’t entitled to the celebration.
However, I casually mentioned to Chasca that it was coming up, in hopes I’d at least get out of changing any diapers for the day–but not expecting or really wanting more than that.
One of the rotating columnists in the Fennimore Times wrote her weekly bit about Mother’s Day, describing how it changes for every era of Mother you are in. Grandmothers and mothers with adult children who are usually the queens of the Mother’s Day Brunch, recipients of flowering baskets and gift certificates for massages. The highest form of the Mother’s Day Queen.
For this, I did take care to shower my own Mother’s Day Queen, Chasca’s Grandma Janet, with perhaps the prettiest Fuchia hanging basket I’ve ever seen, courtesy of The Village Greenhouse curbside service, of course.
I took the kids earlier in the week to drop it off, not knowing if we’d get a chance to slip in and surprise her on Mother’s Day. She seemed quite shocked and delighted from my socially distant standpoint down in the yard, after depositing the basket on her porch and backing away slowly.
The Times columnist also went on to describe the level of mothering I am at, the mother of a young family.
“For you Moms with young children, more good news!! Your kids will still bounce into bed with you at the crack of dawn to wake you up for your special day. No extra sleep for you on Mother’s Day. Will they linger long enough for a cozy snuggle? Or an “I love you Mom!”
“Nope! They are off to the kitchen to make you breakfast in bed. Hearing the crashing sounds coming from the kitchen you throw back the covers at least three times to rescue them from utter disaster, but each time you exercise restraint and crawl back into bed and allow them their moment. It is both ultimate torture and exquisite bliss,” Chris Swan the Times columnist wrote.
This all started for me, at some point in the wee morning hours of Mother’s Day when Waylon began squealing from his bedroom to be retrieved and safely tucked between us in our bed. Then, Thatcher was shaking me awake to “scootch over!” so he could come snuggle in the “warm spot” too. With Chasca sawing logs next to me, I finally gave up on restful sleep in my own bed and wiggled out and fell sound alseep in Thatcher’s tiny warm bed. I was so tired after being poked, prodded and woken up 100 different times that slipping into his bed felt like Goldie Locks finding just the right Little Bear accommodations.
Until once again, I woke to the sound of Waylon cooing, squealing, and generally jabbering, loudly. I tried to slip into my own bed unnoticed and milk a little extra sleep out of the gloomy morning...but I was spotted by Thatcher, who announced “MOM DID YOU KNOW IT’S YOUR SPECIAL DAY?! YOU GOTTA WAKE UP!”
I tried to escape his reminder that it wasn’t even 8 a.m. yet by pulling the covers over my head, but he joyously ripped them from my weak and tired hands to bring me my “special day valentines” he had written. His message was encrypted with a series of A and B and T which seem to be his favorite letters at the moment. He however translated them to messages along the lines of “I will love you forever Mama, even when you’re old and brittle.”
No sooner did Thatcher promise me his undying love, than did Chasca arrive with breakfast and coffee in bed and a sweet and rather elaborate card he made himself.
We spent the unseasonably cold, snowy morning decorating our house, something we had not gotten to since moving in. Chasca and I even found photos of our own moms to hang on the wall.
I didn’t have to change a single diaper, and I received several kind, and thoughtful messages from people who know a holiday like Mother’s Day can be hard for those of us without a mom around.
Letting go completely of my expectations of the holiday and all of the emotions that can surround it allowed me to really have the perfect day. I accomplished more than I had hoped for, ate some really good food, drank the perfect cup of coffee and even took a shower without a four year old opening the door 100 times to ask 400 different questions.Every year, I grow a little more into this whole mom role and it gets a little easier to figure out how it all works.