Mother's Day.
The day when so many moms have high expectations and some moms just don't.
How many mothers simply wanted the day to themselves? "Take the kids to the park and for ice
cream. Don't come home until sometime in
2018…" You think they're
kidding. Men, trust me; they're not even
remotely joking.
That being said, I celebrated the low expectations version
of Mother's Day on Saturday. I did
something I rarely do: I watched television.
Simultaneously and over a series of hours I watched several pre-recorded
movie versions of rock concerts (Led Zepplin, David Bowie, Queen), a couple of
movies including the uncut original Blazing
Saddles ("Prairie shit!"), and four Division I NCAA lacrosse
games. I finished one book and started
another, which I stayed up reading until 2 a.m. I had breakfast with my middle child and
supper with my youngest. With the exception of about four hours Saturday,
I had the entire house to myself.
I celebrated the other, high expectations version of
Mother's Day on Sunday. I spent the
afternoon in Boston with my youngest and eldest, where we attended a little
kids' lacrosse game (eldest is a coach) and ate a wonderful lunch of Mexican
food while watching more Division I NCAA lacrosse playoffs. After I got home, my middle child came over
with her fiancé and we had a scrumptious dinner of baked haddock (they cooked). I got three cards, had a fantastic day, got out
in the sun, and sang Monty Python songs at the dinner table.
Sometimes life is good, and sometimes it's simply much, much
better than good.
Until next spring, may every day be Mother's Day. Even Father's Day can (and probably is) Mother's Day. After all, we know who really wears the pants
in the family; if you don't know, just ask The Lumberjack.
