Being a mother is more often than not a thankless job, especially for single mothers. Mother’s Day is the designated thanking day. In two-parent families, the other partner has some implicit obligation to make arrangements to observe the day which, let’s be honest, is just another Hallmark conspiracy.
In the weeks leading up to today, we have been especially busy, but the kids have talked about Mother’s Day. The boys wanted to make some special breakfast and they added gluten free baking mix to the cart at the grocery store. The first of us had to be at church by 7:45, and the last of us by nine so that didn’t work out. Sissy asked what I wanted and I suggested we go hiking together in the afternoon, but I am sick again, increasingly so. Thus that also didn’t happen.
Everyone said Happy Mother’s Day and no doubt they meant it. I’ve said it before that expectation really is premeditated resentment. These three, they’re still kids, and some narcissism is developmentally appropriate. Also I know they love me and I know they take me for granted and I know they will not ever fully appreciate what I do for them, the sacrifices I make. They will never fully appreciate how loved they are, either, unless or until they have children of their own; maybe not even then.
It was a good day anyway. As much as I wanted to spend it in bed, I got up and went to church where my daughter and her peers spoke in the annual Youth Sunday service. It was moving and inspiring as it always is. A group of bright, thoughtful kids talked about the things that keep them up at night, about their fears, their disappointments, and their hopes. I cried.
In the fellowship hall after the services, I heard the words Happy Mother’s Day dozens of times, all heartfelt. I called my I-wish-she-were-my-mother and I went for lunch with some of my favorite people. Even though my boys weren’t spectacularly well-behaved, they sat at another table and there was friendship and laughter among the adults.
I came home and slept for several hours and woke to several kind notes. I was also feeling worse, limp and wilted like a dry plant left to die. Sissy brought me some tea and a packet of tissues.
One of the kindest people I know came by after a run to the pharmacy for me. There was whispering in the kitchen and a few minutes later, Little Man came in with a very sweet card. “I love you, it’s true,” he wrote, “I’m sorry you had a devil for a husband.” Yes, I laughed.
Everyone is quiet. It was a Happy Mother’s Day.
Mother’s Day is different when you are a divorcee. I was feeling a bit peeved about that earlier in the week, especially because it was my birthday too. I’ll admit that I wanted someone to make me feel special.
The kids were with my ex this weekend, and that was okay because every day is Mother’s Day for me. Oh and a great friend took me out to brunch and then to see a Red Sox game in historic Fenway Park. It was a fun day after all.
Happy Mother’s Day, my friend!
Molly@Postcards from a Peaceful Divorce recently posted..Gray Hair is Okay
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“…they will not ever fully appreciate what I do for them, the sacrifices I make. They will never fully appreciate how loved they are, either, unless or until they have children of their own; maybe not even then.”
As Tyler mentioned in his comment, training for fatherhood is relatively easy, so I know my boy will never quite “get” the depth & breadth of my sacrifice as well (even more so in light of the fact that I was coerced into pregnancy, but that’s another blog post
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Now that is a story I want to read!
If I had been drinking when I read the last couple of lines of this post, my whole computer would have been sprayed. Your son wrote that? It’s awful…..but it’s hysterical and heartfelt and it made me laugh. Thank you for sharing.
I don’t care that Mother’s Day is a Hallmark holiday….I’m sad that my part in it these days is so small. There is no husband-father to tell me that I’m a great mom, and though I know in my bones that I am, it saddens me that my ex could not appreciate even this part of me. And of course, there was no daddy-daughter breakfast making in the kitchen to surprise me, no spa certificate, no “why don’t you take a few hours to read or go out with a friend”. I got my beautiful girl, and her card with original poetry (made at school), and I know I am blessed…but I’m still glad Mother’s Day won’t come again for another year!
(And I have one month to help our girl do something for her dad for Father’s Day. This modeling of behavior for her is….tiring.)
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