Actually, these flowers are for me. From “Caroline.”
I put Caroline in quotes because unless she learned how to navigate a flower shop website and owns a credit card, I’m sure her gift required some assistance. As it turns out, she was kind of surprised that she sent them, so it’s pretty safe to say that she had an accomplice. So, thanks “Caroline!”
And this is where I make a startling confession: I didn’t send my mom a Mother’s Day Card.
Yep, I said it.
No card. No present. Nothing.
Insert cries of disbelief and general feelings of disgust over my negligence here. But actually, if you know me well enough, you’ll know that this isn’t much of a surprise. I was born completely lacking the sentimental, smushy Hallmark gene.
Never fear though, to recompense for my egregious oversight, I wrote my mom a poem. I’m not sure that 2010’s Mother’s Day poem will ever compete with the classic poem I penned around 1984, which went like this:
Moms are specal
Moms are nice
Moms take care fo you
And I like moms
We’ll just let her be the judge. Since she’s so wise and lovely and forgiving, and all.
The Sorry I’m a Lousy Daughter Poem
Awful, wretched, horrible
That’s what you should call me
For I failed to send you
a Mother’s Day card
in honor of your birthing of me
I did not intend to be so neglectful
You deserve much better than this
It was never my desire
to be a negligent daughter
But it’s not really my fault, you see
For you can attest
That this trait of forgetfulness
Is simply hereditar
So, as you can see, It’s NOT my fault. I was wired this way. It’s completely genetic and totally irreversible.
But the best part of it all is that my mom doesn’t care one bit if I don’t send a card. She was born without the very same sentimental, sappy Hallmark gene, too; I learned this all from her. We’re simpatico.
I wonder if I learned the ability to easily place blame on others from her, as well? 😉
Honestly, I didn’t *forget* to send her a card. I actually scoured the card racks at a few different stores, on a few separate occasions. The problem is that I couldn’t find one single appropriate card. They were either too sappy, too formal, too stupid, not applicable or made noise.
I do not like cards that make noise. I also do not like cards that come in that square size. They’re actually very attractive, BUT what’s with the “requiring extra postage” thing. How much extra postage do they require? A whole extra stamp? Or just a few extra cents? I don’t carry around 1 cent stamps and I try to avoid the post office unless absolutely necessary. The whole thing just stresses me out.
I have such a problem with greeting cards, for any occasion. It’s hard to find one. Like Mother’s Day cards, they’re either sappy or stupid. I really dislike those birthday cards in the humorous section that have the old ladies on them who talk about sagging body parts and incontinence, among other undesirable ailments that come along with aging. Or any cards that discuss bathroom humor or have partially naked people on them. Tacky.
I’m not really a prude and I don’t necessarily dislike inappropriate jokes, but there is something about those tacky cards that really rub me the wrong way. I love a good joke; I think it’s safe to assume that I have a pretty good sense of humor. But, as God as my witness, I will never send a card like that.
Anyway, instead of sending a sub-par Mother’s Day card, I sent nothing.
Don’t worry, I called her and told her. I even vowed to buy her lunch when we visit this summer.
What makes her such an awesome mom is that she doesn’t care. There isn’t any guilt dished out, nor are there any high expectations to meet.
I’m a lot like that.
I don’t care about Mother’s Day gifts; they’re nice, but totally superfluous. My expectations are completely realistic. Much like the way my mom asked year after year for me to “make my bed everyday, keep my room clean and be nice to my sister,” I’d much rather Caroline put her shoes in the shoe basket EVERY time she removes her shoes than buy me something I don’t really need.
Of course I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that heartfelt cards, innocently constructed by grade school hands are the type of thing that make even someone like me melt.
Those will always be happily accepted.
And when Caroline is old and grown and forgets to send me a card, I won’t mind.
Just as long as she calls me. Or better yet, writes me a poem.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!
Since you like to look at food pictures, and I want to give you everything you want (!), here are a few to whet your appetite.