Parenting

Mothers Day Humbug

Helen

I don’t remember how we celebrated Mother’s Day when I was a child, but when I finally evolved as somebody’s adult daughter, I made sure that I delivered for mom, every year. That may have been a subconscious effort to do penance for my teen years, but what’s the difference. I had a fun day with mother.

Now that I no longer have my own mother to pamper, I wonder why Mother’s Day is less important. I am a mom after all. Did my own mother ever feel that way after her mom passed?

It is impossible for me to say why I’m not a fan of mothers day without sounding selfish. There is a s psychological component at play for sure. I don’t want to be set up for disappointment. No matter what I say, or who I say it to, the day is always kind of lackluster compared to the expectations I have from watching commercials on the subject. I want to spare myself the blow.

Why, and who, decided that we must impose Mother’s Day. While I do think honoring mothers is a nice thing to do, the he truth is that this phenomenon was created by a person who spent the last 20 years of her life trying to have mothers day abolished. Too bad for us that Hallmark had more influence on the country than she did. Ironic too, that she never had children.

And all of this brings me to the point I wanted to make all along. I don’t like Mother’s Day. I’m happy that I was able to treat my mother to her day out – shopping, lunch, girl things. I miss her. When she passed away, we cleaned out her apartment I kept her sewing machine, her wind up toy of a doll called ‘Matzo Man’ who sings when you wind him up, and I kept her jewelry box that contained nothing more valuable than my memories. If she were alive still, I’d be on my way to see her right now, probably without my own kids since it’s mothers day after all, and call me selfish, but it’s Mother’s Day and my kids are kids, not mothers.

I would like to promote a weekend cruise 2020 for mothers only. No dads, no kids, and no exceptions either. Exceptions get us into trouble.

Let’s go out and celebrate what all those hard lessons have taught us:

We are in charge of our own happiness.

To impose our expectations on dads and kids is just an exercise in futility, and disappointment, and on some level, is simply an injustice for them. I mean, earrings and mugs that say ‘I ❤️ Mom’ are nice, but do I need to say anything more about Mother’s Day knickknacks?

Let’s have fun like we used to. Leave your cell phone on dry land, turn off the internet, eat and drink and play the music loud! A weekend of camaraderie at sea with other mom warriors is this is the gift I want next year. I can just see it. My husband and our daughters drive me to the pier and hand over my luggage. I blow a kiss from the main deck as the ship leaves the harbor and as I wave goodbye I call to them. “See you Sunday! If you have an emergency, dial 9-1-1. Bye now.”

I’m in charge. Why don’t I have an office?

Helen

I was driving.  My daughter, who was then about 5 years asked: “Mom, how do you get to be in charge?”

“What do you mean? In charge of what?”   I answered.  

“Like, you’re in charge of all of us.  How do you get to be in charge?”

My friend, and mom of  two boys, called me at that very moment and I deferred to her.  “Mel wants to know how I got to be in charge of everyone.”

 Her response,  “Oh, right, that’s the booby prize. “

It’s true. I am the person who keeps the budget, who finds the missing shoe, who keeps track of who goes where, and when, and so on. It certainly reads like a boss’s job, yet I don’t feel like a boss.  Bosses go out to lunch, they don’t prepare the meal and also clean up after everybody leaves the room. Bosses wear nice clothes. I wear what I slept in.  Bosses get a paid vacation. I don’t even get paid. Bosses have an office door that closes to indicate they would like privacy, and they get it!  Well, that’s fun to imagine.

If I had an office, with a door to close, it would be lovely. There would be a

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The Fancy Dress

Helen

layered-green-gown-tabbed

I wrote this piece several months ago, but it seemed timely now that prom season is in full swing.

I recently attended the NJ All Shore Chorus’ 53rd Annual Recital. My daughter was awarded a music scholarship from All Shore this year and when she texted me from the auditions to say she had the scholarship, the first thing I thought about (after yay!) was, what will she wear?  There really isn’t any pomp and circumstance to choir wardrobes. Although she’s needed clothes for every kind of choir you can imagine, from high school to a touring A Capella group, outfitting her has always been the same. “Mom, I need a black dress.”  (It’s amazing how many different kinds of black dresses one girl can own.)   But now were were shopping for a soloist gown that might be  red, or teal, or peach, with beads, or sequins!  I was giddy.

When I was in high school I had just one gown, when we, as seniors, we were encouraged to dress formally for our final spring music recital. I remember the day when my mother bought me a fancy dress for that occasion.” Don’t tell your father how much we spent,” she said. “Just hang it up in your room.  He probably won’t even notice.”  The dress she bought me was over budget, but “for some things we make exceptions,” she said. Now it felt like my time to pay it forward.

Busy schedules sent us shopping after 8pm on three separate occasions, until finally we found the perfect dress which unfortunately did not have the perfect price tag.   But how could I not buy this for her?   How many times will an event like this happen? I could hear mother’s voice in my mind,  “She looks so beautiful in that gown.  She feels beautiful. So, you’ll have to turn the thermostat down for a month and skip all the takeout until Spring. Do it. You will regret it if you don’t.”   And then a saleslady named Anu came into the fitting room and sighed with me. “You have to get this one,” she said in an Indian accent.

“It’s really more than I was planning on spending.” I said.

“Don’t worry about the price mommy.” she said, “I fix it for you.”

And she did. Bless that saleslady who with the swipe of two coupons knocked the price of that dress down by 40%. Anu has daughters too she told me, who are all grown now. “When they feel and look that beautiful?  There is not a price for that. You’re a good mom,” she said. “We moms have to stick together.”  She smiled and zipped up the garment bag.   “Now you carry it,” she said to my daughter.  “Mom did enough hard work today.”

When she stood on the stage that night and sang for us it was perfect. It was all worth it, every penny. And after the concert, and then our small after party,  I was thinking that I hope one day my own daughters will have the chance to buy their own girls a  dream dress. And if not that, then maybe like Anu did, they can help in some other way.

There are so many things our kids want to do that require money and time we’d rather spend elsewhere. But we spend it on them for whatever the important reasons are at the time. For me, this was one of those times.

It’s true, if it can make them look and feel like a million bucks, there really is no price for that. And to my own mom and to Anu I  am grateful to be reminded that you can’t buy happiness, but once in a while you can buy a really great dress.