So, I didn’t send my mom a Mother’s Day card again. Again!!
I know, I know; I’m a lousy, good for nothing daughter.
I feel a slight twinge of guilt, but then I remember how much my mom doesn’t care about cards and gifts. Last year I wrote her a poem, albeit a terrible poem, but this year I couldn’t even come up with one single stanza to honor her on Mother’s Day.
What kind of monster am I?
Since I can’t fill this blank blog space with another offering from my (non existent) poetry collection, I thought I’d post a little bit of what I wrote last year to justify my reasons for being such a lousy daughter.
From May 7, 2010:
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:
We’ll just let her be the judge. Since she’s so wise and lovely and forgiving, and all.
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.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!
I make some valid points, right?
But you know, as I was copying and pasting this together, I started to think about the one thing my mom has done that really sticks out in my mind. The one thing I appreciate most. Sure moms are nice and sacrificial; they teach you things; they encourage you and discipline you. Moms pack your lunch, chaperone field trips and drive you and your friends all over creation. Those are all important things, all of which I’m happy to say my mom did for me. But you know what I appreciate most about my mom?
After I had Caroline and would call my her to complain about the trials and tribulations of raising a toddler, she always took my side. Some grandmas are so blind in their grandmotherly love that they can’t even imagine their precious grandchildren are capable of being the slightest bit terrible. To them, their grandchildren are angels and anything they’re doing wrong must be directly related to incompetent parenting practices.
When I’d whine about Caroline’s epic meltdowns, my mom would sympathize with me. She didn’t blame me; she didn’t offer her own well intended suggestions, she merely said “I know just how you feel.” How great is it for a mom to honestly say “when you were three, I wanted to sell you at the flea market.”
She understood my woes and never tried to make me feel worse for threatening to sell my own child on ebay.
Sometimes you need a little sympathy from your mom. Which, in this case, has more than made up for the time she made me wear a big, floppy lace bow in my hair on third grade picture day.
So, thanks mom. Thanks for
your stellar hair styling advice sharing my child rearing pain and for not making me feel bad when I said wanted to trade in your only grandchild for a puppy.
Happy Mother’s Day!