Friday, May 9, 2014

Moms, Moms, Everywhere

Mothers Day is upon us.  Every year, kids, and adults, run around, trying to make dinner reservations or cook a meal, buy flowers and cards in hopes of making Mom happy.  For some, it is a truly joyous day.  For others, it's a difficult day and many hope it'll pass.  And, then there are the "moms", those who may not have a biological connection, but most certainly deserve credit.

Watching people in Hallmark stores or in the card aisles at Walgreens or CVS the weekend of Mothers Day is truly comical.  You could get some popcorn and big Diet Coke and bring a chair-in-a-bag and camp out just to watch what goes on.  Mostly, I find the men are the ones who make the best watching material.  Kind of like on Valentines Day, when they stand there, panic stricken, over the cards that are left over, trying to find one that says what it is they are trying to communicate for $4.  These are the same people who think they are able to make a brunch or dinner reservation today, two days before Mothers Day, the busiest restaurant day of the year, at the peak dining time, without any problem.  Good luck to them.

Last year, I hosted brunch for Mothers Day. My mother hates restaurants on this day. She never wants to go out.  So, she decides on brunch or dinner and what we're eating and that's what we have.  She is actually hosting this year.  Something new!  So, last year, we had brunch.  I told my family, about a month ahead of time, that I still wanted to eat dinner that day.  I wish I had whipped out my phone to record their faces when I said this. They were flabbergasted by my statement, especially my husband, and kids #2 and #4.  They didn't understand my statement.  Did I want them to cook? And if so, what? PBJ? Real food? Did I want to go out? And, if so, where? They panicked.  BUT---they did a GREAT job and took me to a restaurant new to all of us and kept it a surprise until we got there.  It was spectacular.

For years, my mother hated this day.  After she lost her mother, she barely wanted to celebrate the day.  She hated it.  She barely wanted to discuss how we were going to celebrate it.  My Bubby always wanted to go out for Mothers Day.  She hardly ate in restaurants so on this day, she wanted brunch out of the house.  I remember we'd go to The Bagel.  That was what she enjoyed.  I think as time passes, we learn to move forward, and we are able to start celebrating life's events again.  Time heals, but we never forget.

I think schools don't always do a great job of being sensitive to these issues either.  It's hard for teachers to take into account every student's individual needs and circumstances.  And, I am not blaming teachers.  They have 20+ students to take into account and sometimes, things get overlooked.  But, there are kids who have unfortunately lost a mother or father.  This time of year, when kids are busy making gifts for their mom (or dad, some teachers plan ahead) are so difficult.  Sure, you can make the gift for a special aunt, grandma or just a special woman, it's hard, plain and simple. How can you expect a child to be able to deal with this when there are adults who have difficulty? We just have to remember to be sensitive.

Then, there are the moms who didn't carry their children for 9 months.  Not all babies grow in their mothers bellies.  Lots of children grow in their mothers hearts.  Adoptive mothers, stepmothers or mother figures.  I am blessed and honored to have both types of sons: those that grew inside my belly and one that grew inside my heart. I fell in love with him when I met him. He wasn't even 3 years old yet.  It's hard to believe that we have been a part of each others lives for 7 1/2 years now.  Even though, I didn't give birth to him, I love him just as much as I do the boys I did.  His mother is no longer here. She passed away when he was about 14 months old.  I know I can never take her place.  But, I hope I am doing what she'd want me to be.  And, I hope one day he realizes that everything I do has always been with his best interests at heart.

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