I give Joel a lot of crap about pre-worrying, or getting worked up about something far in advance of it happening/maybe happening. And while he is truly a master at it, I’m no slouch, either.
This week, I spent a lot of time worrying about Mother’s Day. Specifically, I worried about whether my family would consider me enough of a mother to celebrate it, and then about whether or not I should tell them that I hoped they would. (Telling them felt like cheating, which is just the dumbest, dumbest way to think about it.)
Over the years I have often scoffed at the holiday, refusing to celebrate a day that’s been drummed up into a gigantic to-do by greeting card purveyors and hucksters of cheap roses. An annoying morning radio jockey said the average amount spent on moms has jumped up to $163, and I’m sorry, but WHAT? In general, I am pretty over all the gift-giving holidays that put stuff over just spending time together. That goes for birthdays and Christmas and Easter, and it sure as hell applies to Mother’s Day. Even if the day technically applies to me now.
Still. Mother of mine, I’m sorry for all the years you didn’t get crappy chocolates or artificially-colored daisies or whatever. I truly wished I had at least picked up the phone to call you over all the years I was being crabby about it, but thank you for loving me even though I was a terrible absentee daughter. And thank you, also, for sharing all of your important motherly wisdom now that there is a little one in my life. For instance:
The amusing part of this text message is that I am THE WORST at saving stuff like this. Just the worst. I have a single shoe box somewhere in the basement that contains some letters, ticket stubs and a crushed corsage from my first prom which is the sum total of my personal relationship archive. At some point along the way I started packratting weird things like copies of my college newspaper in bulk or every single piece of bad collateral I wrote my first year in advertising or all the sheet music from when I played clarinet two decades ago. But I never saved cards, which is kind of a bummer now. If I’m going to save things, seems like they should be more personal.
[Random note: My picture in that above text is from a photoshoot where a pro did my makeup, and it now strikes me as ridiculous and very dramatic and I feel like I should change it pronto. Also, the “Mike” I mention above is my uncle, who recently had surgery and is doing much better now.]
I’m pretty sure there is nothing in the world that would get me to throw away this, my first-ever Mother’s Day card. Especially since I worried for a week about whether I would get it. Claire was so excited to give it to me that she did it while we were getting out of the car on the way home from the dog park yesterday morning, and she has not stopped asking when we can plant the seeds that are inside. I’m the opposite of a green thumb – plants fear me – but she has inspired me to give it a go this year.
This morning I got up and ran a Mother’s Day 5K with the running club I joined, Moms On The Run. I set a personal record for the 5K! (I’ve been trying so hard to get down to a 10-minute mile at this distance, and I made 10:04, which I will totally take.) As I ran the two laps around Lake Como with hundreds of other moms, passing signs with “go, mom, go!” on them, it really sank in how much my life has changed in six months. Just look at this paragraph! I have never used the terms “mom” or “mother” so many times in reference to something about me ever. EVER.