Mother’s Day dawned bright and sunny, but cold.
How chilly was it? For once I didn’t have to say to my children, “Put on a sweater, I’m cold.” In solidarity with me, they also donned extra layers yesterday. And I’m pretty sure it was truly for their own comfort as well.
Ian and Hugh drove off to buy me a hanging plant from, as Ian put it, “The guy who sets up behind Manhattan Bagels.” There were two hand-made cards, including a beautiful watercolor of a streetscape in Estonia.
We enjoyed a day-long truce in which there was no bickering, and chores were cheerfully done. Chris did all the cooking, but that is not unusual, and we watched Two for the Road in the evening. It was a perfect Mother’s Day.
The only bittersweet moment was when I found myself grateful that Ian was with us, when most of his peers are away at college, and realized that this may be the last Mother’s Day when all the boys are here.
And that led me to another bittersweet thought about motherhood – there are so many moments that are also “lasts,” but we have no way of knowing that at the time.
The last time our child lets us hold his hand in public. The last bedtime story read to him in his narrow bunkbed. The last time the child asks to be carried in our arms. The last time he says “Mommy” before “Mom” replaces it forever.
We capture all the firsts on camera, in baby books, in blogs, on tape.
But we never capture the inevitable, the unknowable, lasts. Only in the rear-view mirror can we dimly make them out, far in the distance and fading fast.
How was your Mother’s Day? Special traditions or memorable moments? Do you think it’s a genuine occasion or just a Hallmark holiday?
