May there always be mama

This morning the pre-kindergarten hosted a Mother’s Day Tea. In related news, I am a complete emotional mess. The kids were so cute, serving up fruit salad and cotton-ball-decorated cards, and sang the following tear-inducing song: “May there always be sunshine, may there always be blue skies, may there always be mama, may there always be me.” I cried a little just typing that, so you can imagine the verklempt, grimace-y, trying-not-to-hysterically-sob face I made through the remainder of the tea. Pretty!

It seems trendy this year to discuss why Mother’s Day sucks: it’s a busy day trying to please mothers, mothers-in-law, and selves; husbands say things like “You’re not MY mother”; moms just want to feel appreciated, dammit, so where is my breakfast in bed? One writer discussed how she should get TWO gifts, one from husband and one from child, and they had better be worthwhile, buddy, because she carried the baby for nine months and lost her fabulous figure in the process – her t&a has never returned to their former glory, so bring on the jewellery and spa trips. And while I understand, to some extent – mothers frequently do feel or actually are underappreciated, it would be nice to have a day where everyone else picks up the drudge-related slack, it is very difficult to juggle family obligations, gifts certainly are lovely – I also feel these sorts of complaints are just categorically wrong.

This morning during school drop-off, a little boy in Mark’s class tripped and fell – not hard, he wasn’t hurt – and began sobbing loudly and dramatically. This little boy lost his mother several months ago, before he was even five years old. I picked him up and hugged and kissed him and he was instantly, miraculously FINE. This little boy is going to spend the weekend, Mother’s Day weekend, without his mother. Last year she celebrated Mother’s Day not knowing it was her last one.

If you have to make your own breakfast, rather than being served it in bed, it is really not that bad.