love and recognition

The tiny boy I am holding in the picture I posted yesterday came over and gave me flowers for Mother's Day.

Then he proceeded to make us a nice dinner.

The three of us, me, him, and Froggy, continued our 80s moviethon by watching Wild Style. If you like classic hip hop, the lowest possible budget filmmaking, graffitied subway cars, Fab Five Freddy, head spins, what passed for clothes in the 80s, thick New York accents, and are tired of real actors mucking around, rent this movie. Rent it even if you don't like these things. It's one you can't help but love. (Shout out to my girl Lesley: This is the hip hop that makes me hang on to my card. ;) )

Schmin is in the unfortunate position of being hit with a double whammy. My birthday and Mother's Day hang around together like double egg yolks. He's saving up some chips for my birthday, for which I have grandly requested a serger, to which he has replied, What the hell is that, Mom?

In my early years of motherhood, I didn't relate to Mother's Day, feeling too young and happening for it. People would hand me cards or flowers and I would think, No kidding? The holiday seemed more appropriate and suitable for my grandmother.

I said "early years," but that's not correct. It's only been in the last few that I've come around and thought, Oh, right, it's Mother's Day. Someone may want to feed me. I'm cool with that.

But I never expect anything. I find it too much a day of guilt and pressure and I don't want to add to that. It's also a day that can be hard on people who have lost their moms, which I know first hand. And, really, I'm not entirely sold on the idea of being lauded for doing something you're supposed to do in the first place, like mothering a child after you've given birth to it. I mean, it's not like you don't know going in that you're about to spend years busting granite. Just look at the time your mother had raising you.

Still, I know that all we humans are looking for in this world is a little love and recognition, and who am I to buck that? Hell, I haven't even managed to staunch the need in my own self. With the years does come realization, and better sense -- I wouldn't want it said about me now what my grandmother used to say when I was a stubborn kid, that I ain't got the sense God gave a fool. From this perspective, I see that mothers bear a lot, and go above and beyond a lot, and cry in the night and get up and do it anyway a lot. I wish all of us as many happy Mother's Days as we can stand, with a cherry on top.