Mother's Day

My favorite Mother's Day memory comes from about 1992. I was working nights on the weekends and, after working Saturday night then going to church, was sleeping on Sunday afternoon so I could go to work Sunday night. The next thing I knew, there was Jarom (all of 6 years old), standing by the bed, screaming his head off and he was covered in blood. He had been riding his bicycle while carrying a cardboard box and had biffed it on the sidewalk. All that blood came from a cut on his lip about an inch long which required stitches and a call-in to work (sorry, can't make it tonight). It was a test of my ability to be the cool, calm, collected mother. I think I did well. (I didn't faint or throw up, so I figured it was all good.)

I'm amazed at how stressed out men get over Mother's Day gifts. Are women that shrewish, materialistic, and cruel that a simple card or even just a kiss and a hug isn't enough? And the jewelers certainly don't help. "Lovely diamond earrings for that special mother....show her how much you love her....spend $1000 on her" (oh, and if you don't? Trouble in paradise, apparently.)

I could do without Mother's Day. I love my mom. I think she knows it. My kids love me. I think I know it. Why have a day where everybody gets freaked out and crazy?

But, then, perhaps it's a good thing for us to have a day where children feel obligated to call and chat or do the dishes. I think I like it. Guilt is a wonderful tool for getting things done.