Monthly Archives: May 2012
My Mother’s Day started the evening before, actually, with my daughter, Jessica, requesting numerous times that I not set my alarm to wake up early. I assured her that I wouldn’t, but that Aiden would most likely perform the task anyway. He did, at 7:15, with his usual, “Mom, the sun is up. It’s time to have breskast.”
Jessica rushed in. “Don’t get up yet, Mom!”
I wouldn’t get up for a couple more hours if I could help it. Anyway.
I heard clattering in the kitchen for about 10 minutes, and then, “Mom, you can come now!”
The table was set with five plates, four of which were matching; one little blueberry toaster waffle was set in the middle of each plate. My place was designated with my morning cup of chai in a new mug on which was printed, “The World’s Best Mom.” My daughter stood by with a big smile on her face, waiting to see my reaction.
It was one of those sights you know you’ll remember always.
A few items were stacked in the middle of the table. I recognized the first, something that made its way home from school in my son’s backpack last week.
I had discovered it when cleaning out the kids’ backpacks and, with Mother’s Day only a few days away, I immediately knew what it was. Without taking a second glance, I had quickly placed it on the kids’ desk.
“I just put your things on the desk,” I said a couple times before Allen quickly jumped up, finally realizing what I was talking about.
“Mommy, did you see what it was?” He was obviously worried.
“See what what was?” I feigned ignorance.
“The thing from my bag!” He was jumping up and down in concern.
“No, I just put it there on the desk.”
“Phew!” he said.
I looked at it now, as I sipped my Mother’s Day chai. It was a little booklet of his art, each one with a message from him on the back.
It was one of those things you know you’ll treasure always.
My husband was working all day, so my dad took me and the kids out for lunch.
My youngest sat next to me. He was tired and ready for his nap. That usually made him testy. Today though, it made him perfect. He kept snuggling up to me, giving me hugs and saying, “Hug me too, Mommy!”
It was one of those moments you know you’ll cherish always.
Three special gifts.
Something precious from each of my children.
It hadn’t cost any of them a cent, but through each thing, I felt their love more clearly than if they had bought out The Bradford Exchange.
It was a Mother’s Day I know I’ll remember always.
When my daughter was three and my son was one, the kids would often have play-school together with some co-workers’ kids. One couple had three sons and we would sometimes exchange the care of our kids so they could get some time off.
After one such evening, we returned to pick up our kids. I noticed the wife seemed a bit intense or exasperated and I was worried. Had my kids acted up?
I casually asked how everything went.
“Your daughter really needs to learn some manners. After everything we did for her, I can’t believe what she said to me.”
Now I was really worried. What could a three-year-old say that was so offensive to an experienced mother?
“She said I had a big tummy!”
Now it was clear. I tried to suppress my laughter. This woman was perpetually commenting on the “fact” that she was overweight. In actuality, grading on the curve, she wasn’t more than a bit chubby. She was, however, very sensitive about her weight and if anyone even agreed with her self-deprecatory comments, they’d be on her blacklist.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I apologized profusely and wholeheartedly for my daughter, who was already sleeping, otherwise I would have had her apologize as well.
The next day, my daughter saw me in my workout outfit, which had a very short top. “Chubby tummy,” she said, and started giggling.
I laughed too, because (at the time) my tummy was more concave than convex. I realized she must have picked the phrase up from somewhere, maybe the three brothers she had been hanging out with the previous evening; she was just repeating something she had heard. I explained to her that it isn’t so nice to draw attention to certain parts of people, such as their weight, or if they wear glasses or walk funny. I’m not sure if she understood completely.
I also wondered if I should let my co-worker know that my daughter had called me chubby as well.
I decided against it.
If we can’t take what comes “out of the mouths of babes” with a grain of salt and a smile, maybe a subscription to the gym wouldn’t be a bad idea.
[Image by © LWA-Sharie Kennedy/zefa/Corbis]