May 08, 2005
A Mother of a Day
Today is Mother's Day. Right now it's very early in the morning, and my husband and children are still sleeping. I think that I should go upstairs and let them all wake up to the smell of Sunday Breakfast, but then I wonder if I am supposed to cook on Mothers Day.
I don’t really know the rules. My own mother died when I was three years old. When I was a child, this day was simply a slap in the face. In school they used to take me out of the classroom and have me do a different project while all the other kids made Mothers Day cards. The teachers would whisper to each other “Her Mother is dead”. “Oh, so that’s why she is so strange”.
How fortunate my own children are to have me. I know that I will probably never win a “Mother of the Year” award. I don’t take them to soccer practice, and I sure as hell don’t drive an SUV. But I can kiss them goodnight. I can dance with them in the kitchen. I can show them the buds blooming on the trees. And I can cook them one hell of a Sunday morning breakfast.
