Just another day

Here’s what I learned yesterday: Mother’s Day is a lot like a birthday, a day that requires celebration and recognition, the level of which is largely dependent on the person being celebrated. Some people don’t care at all and are happy to get a card or a nice word. Others want fireworks, flowers, bells, whistles and all the stuff in between. The distance between expectations and reality can be the difference between a good day and one that ends in tears or an angry trip to the grocery store. I talked to a lot of moms yesterday and today, and I have yet to hear from anyone (except my own mom and stepmom, of course) who had a great day. Most of the people who had crappy days have small children who can’t really celebrate the holiday in their own right, so I think this is more a comment on husband-wife relations than anything else.

My sister, for example, “got to” host a brunch for our mom and her mother-in-law, and got a $25 gift card from Target from her husband, who purchased a new printer and a card for his own mother. Another friend of mine also had brunch responsibilities for her mom and mother-in-law but received no card or celebration of her own. She was then made to feel guilty for indulging in some junk TV (Britney and Kevin’s True Hollywood Story) and so escaped for a solo trip to the grocery store for some time by herself. My other good friend (I’m purposely withholding names here), who bought me a lovely Mother’s Day card that made me feel very special, spent her day doing laundry and cleaning the floor. What's the deal, here? Are my expectations just silly and way too high?

My day started nicely enough. We went to breakfast at the place we do most Sundays, and then we went to a flower market and bought a little something for the garden, which I haven’t even started working on this year. That was it, though, and I was a little bothered by the lack of celebration, much to both my surprise and Nate’s. He was thinking this was a holiday on par with Valentine’s Day—why celebrate love just once a year to please the Hallmark corporation? But I was disappointed and the day ended on a pretty low note. Sure, all days should involve celebrating moms, but I think the notion of one special day is kind of cute. I remember all the crafts we would make in school when I was younger: the collages and picture frames with macaroni glued on as decoration, the wall hangings and painted planters. I can’t wait until I get those things from my own daughter, and I was bummed to have not much to show for my very first Mother’s Day. In Nate’s defense, I should mention he was going to get me a tattoo to celebrate, but I realized too late that DUH! you don’t do silly things like that when you’re breastfeeding. And he always does nice things for me, even brought me flowers last week, although he was adament that they were "just because" and not for Mother's Day. I think he thus felt surprised and caught off guard that I wanted something so mundane, silly and common as a Mother’s Day celebration, so there was a lot of tension as we tried to sort things out. At one point he demanded we cancel any sort of future celebration for Father’s Day, but why would I want to miss out on an opportunity to celebrate all the important and wonderful ways his life has changed since Clementine came along, even if it is for spite?

So now I’m left thinking a lot more about what the holiday means and why I wanted it to be acknowledged. For one, I do miss all the loopy, romantic things we used to do for each other before we settled into our blissful and comfortable marriage. I agree that there are holidays that are pointless to make a big deal out of, and I do think that sometimes forces conspire to ruin big days. When you have high expectations for a day—a birthday, Thanksgiving, etc., you are almost always disappointed. But motherhood is new to me, and I’ve doubted just about every decision I’ve made since I became a mother. It is an exercise in losing control, in wondering, in taking flying leaps into a void and hoping it all turns out OK. Thus far, I’ve survived, and I think I wanted to be pampered and recognized for that. I know Nate marvels at how I’ve adapted each and every day, and he is the only person in the world I would want to do this with. He tells me all the time how great I am doing, how lucky he and Clementine are. So why did I need a bigger deal to be made of it yesterday? Am I an egomaniac or something? I feel like an ass, and he certainly felt hurt to think I don’t see his appreciation. I do, I do, but I’m weak. I wanted something more, something I didn’t articulate, something I didn’t know I would crave. I feel silly, but we were able to recover by the end of the evening and I'm fine today, if not a little embarassed for pouting so much.

Shit! More to think about, but I’m late for a meeting. Mondays really suck.