Monday, May 14, 2007

Mother's Day Rambles....

Mother's Day was actually Mother's weekend for me. The family kind of understood that I probably wanted what most moms really want: some freaking time to myself, and god bless 'em, they gave it to me. I spent the weekend riding my bike and playing with my new toy. I helped facilitate a planning session at Bucketworks (they have to move, you should help….) and I got most of my garden planted while I enjoyed the last bits of the tulip blooms. But part of Mother's Day is not just honoring your mom. It's being a mom and savoring the precious things about it. To wit:

  • Stella's school does a Mother's Day Tea every year. Last year I was late and when I arrived, Stella had tears in her eyes because she thought I blew it off. This year I took the whole afternoon off work Thursday to ensure that I would get their early and spend a lovely afternoon with my beautiful girl. Like a waitress, she asked me what flavor of tea I preferred (I chose the Berry Zinger!) and she prepared and presented it as though it were the Eucharistic offering. It was accompanied by lovely little cucumber tea sandwhiches and fruit kabobs made by her class. The classroom was decorated with flower arrangements, both real and pipe-cleaner/wrapping tissue varierty. I felt like George Watts' Tea Room had "Put Your Kids To Work" day. My gift? A coupon book from Stella, with copuons good for, among other things "Telling Stella to clean her room without actually telling her." Afterwards, we hit the garden centers to pick up the stuff we'd be planting over the weekend. We agreed on a theme: hot tropical colors, and we picked out lots of hot pink and orange impatiens to brighten up our shady patio. Overall, a lovely girls' afternoon out, followed by a smashing following evening at the Ballet.

  • Then on Friday (which I also took off), my sweet little boy Sammy comes home from school and drags his backpack over to me. "Mommy," he says, flirtaciously, "I have something for you in my backpack," a facial expression that implies that this isn't going to be just some field trip permission slip I have to sign. He slowly unzippers the top, and produces a gift wrapped in leopard-skin tissue paper. "Is this for me?" I ask. "Yes! It's Mother's Day!" he nods his head, his anticipatory smile almost splitting his head in half. I carefully and slowly unwrap it -- wanting to make this moment last for both of us, because I think at 3 1/2, this is the first time he's really been cognizant of the fun of planning, making -- and then giving -- a surprise gift to somebody. It's a tealight candle inside of a jar that's been hodpodged with tissue paper for a clumsy stained glass effect. It's precious. "Did you make this?" I ask rhetorically (although there is no such thing as a rhetorical question when you're dealing with a little kid), and he replies, "Yes! I made this for you! It's for movies!" (when we watch DVD movies, we turn out all the lights and light candles). "Oh, thank you!" I said, giving him, as we call it, "a big squeezy hug" followed up with smothering kisses and, our little phrase goes, "a raspberry on top." I know that some day I'm going to wake up and find that my cuddly little buddy sweetheart has turned into a mouthy adolescent who scowls at me and gets angrily embarassed if I so much as show him an ounce of affection in front of his pals, but for now, I have a question. Am I the only mom who has visions of herself in the Emergency Room, sheepishly telling an EMT, "Uh, I think I hugged him too hard…"

  • Oh, and two more precious Stella moments: On her little card she made me, there was a question: "What are moms made of?" Her answer? "Lots of love and White Chocolate." On Sunday, Brian made me one of my favorite things: pizza on the grill. Stella hates grilled pizza. It's too crispy, its too wood-fire smoky, it's too grownup. But she said, "I won't whine about this because it's mother's day, and I know how you hate whining, so as a gift to you I'll just eat it silently and try not to make a face." God I love that girl.

No comments: