For a holiday that was supposedly artificially created to sell greeting cards and flowers, I sure had a lot of serious thoughts on motherhood yesterday. For instance, when could I finally go visit my friend 2T who just had her second child? Or, should I wait for a few more days to write my High School friends about my upcoming visit? One of them had lost her own mother this year, so maybe it wasn’t the best day for upbeat emails. Or, a discussion that kept replaying itself in the back of my mind from a very sad parent-teacher conference the week before with a single mother who was so clearly at her wits end and incapable of talking about her son rationally. The talk had set all my inner alarm bells off it had all the signs of a crisis-in-the-making . . .
And then there was my own Mother’s Day, which had started at our little breakfast celebration where only one of my daughters had a present for me. The other daughter - as I found out later – had forgotten her present at school and couldn’t get it until Monday, but she somehow felt she couldn’t tell me that during our celebration. My husband tried to cover for her by saying the wisteria plant on the table was from her, but she then blurted out “and there is more coming” without looking at me. I could tell how bad she felt and I really really didn’t want her feeling that way. People forget stuff. It happens. I swooned about the wisteria and talked about where we could plant it.
In the evening, I wanted to Skype with my own mom, but she wasn’t online so I settled for an email. While writing it, I felt guilty about the fact that I STILL hadn’t mailed off the long promised thumb drive with videos of her granddaughters’ music performances. Inside, I was secretly hoping that she doesn’t want me to feel guilty. People forget stuff. It happens.
Today, when I picked my daughter up from the music school, she had the present in her hand and gave it to me before she even got in the car. I had to open it right away, there in the car that was important to her. It was a really nice picture she had painted of a flower and butterfly. On the ride home from the music school, we stopped at the post office and I mailed off the thumb drive.