This is my Mother’s Day jewelry. It’s the first year Graham has actually known what Mother’s Day is and while we were walking through Old Navy he said, “You know, Mother’s Day is coming up.” So I let the kids peruse the clearance jewelry rack and helped rein in some of their crazier choices until we ended up with a Mother’s Day ring. The kids insisted on a ring of their own. They actually stole my Mother’s Day ring from last year (which I helped them pick out at the clearance rack at Sears) and co-opted it as their “Power Ring.”
It’s a five dollar ring that I bought for myself and the blue-painted glass is already a little chipped. But it means something to me.
These are my Mother’s Day flowers. Tessa still has no idea what Mother’s Day is, but she brought them over to me with a big smile and when we came inside she put them all in a little cup.
There’s never a guarantee that your kids will give you these moments. They can’t be forced and they never come when you’re expecting them. That’s how motherhood is, there’s no script, no plan, just things as they happen day by day.
I don’t really like Mother’s Day and I don’t really like writing about Mother’s Day. I have said it before but the day just keeps coming every year so I keep having to say it again. It feels like I want to say pretty much the same thing every year. I still feel ambivalent and strange and lonely and I wish it would just disappear as a holiday.
Happily, for the third year I have something that means something to me that’s tied up with Mother’s Day, and yesterday Boston had their second annual Listen To Your Mother show. It is a beautiful thing in my life and it’s beautiful to have it at this particular time. It’s a bright spot to bring people together, to help give voice to stories that need to be shared.
Three years of Listen To Your Mother does a lot to help me feel less caught up in my own internal weirdness on this holiday. (As a sidenote, “Internal Weirdness” is really a defining characteristic of mine and could also make a great band name.) The show doesn’t magically fix it all; my three years of Listen To Your Mother have also been three years that I haven’t had anyone to give my comp ticket to. And each year when the cast disperses into the audience to hug their families, I quietly head off to get my things. I have friends there who care about me and our cast members. It is wonderful to see them and to feel their support. It’s still strange, though, to keep doing this without having that safe place in the audience where I know someone is waiting just for me. My piece this year was all about the distractions of mothering and how they got me through the first difficult days on my own. And I kept thinking this year that LTYM is a lot like that. I have the distractions of getting the show ready to keep me from dwelling on that missing piece.
Today I will avoid social media, just like I do on those other holidays I hate, but I will also celebrate that I made it through my hardest six months of the year. Once again I made it through that roughest patch relatively unscathed. Now it’s Spring and I can’t help but feel that Spring means something special and wonderful when you’ve had a long, hard Winter. I know that all over the country people have had leaves on the trees for months, but ours have just barely started to appear and I feel absolutely certain that ours must be more beautiful and more loved than any other leaves. I’m hoping that metaphor applies to the difficult winters of life, too.
Thanks to our wonderful cast for stories that helped sustain me, it was an honor to stand next to you. Thanks to our thoughtful and kind producers for going on the LTYM journey with me again. Thanks to our sponsors who mean the show actually gets to happen: national sponsors BlogHer/She Knows and Luvs, local sponsors Improv Boston, Barefoot Garden Designs, The Fenway Group, Carvalho & Roth Orthodontics, Jamberry Nails Independent Consultant Jess O’Toole, and Sanela Salon.
And thanks to my friend Kathy who never forgets me on Mother’s Day, you can’t possibly know how much it means to me, dearest.