Propped up in bed watching the series finale of Desperate Housewives, boo-hooing like a baby while my sleeping dog toots silently next to me. I haven’t watched this show since season 2, but I still felt the need to be here for the end. I still don’t know why the narrator blew her brains out. Can somebody fill me in?
Mother’s Day started off okay. I woke up an hour and a half before the alarm clock was set to go off. Rather than roll over, I decided to get up, make a pot of coffee and tackle my daughter’s play room. And it took me that full hour and a half to get it under control.
And then it was time to wake up Emma Kelly. Things went very well at first. She was so excited to run grab the present she had hidden in her room for me — glamorous rubber gloves and a matching dish-scrubbing brush that she had picked out herself. What is my daughter trying to tell me, exactly? Anyway, I thanked her for thinking of me with breakfast in bed. Things were going so great! But then it was bathtime. You would think I was sending her to the torture chamber. She pitched a fit the entire time. As I’m washing her hair, it was, “You’re so mean! You’re so mean!” I was silently simmering. As I wrapped her in a towel, it was, “You hurt my feelings! You’re so mean!” I was silently seething. As I had to put toothpaste on her brush and brush her teeth myself, it was constant crying. I was silently fuming. As I went through every dress hanging in her closet, it was, “No! No! No! No!” I was starting to reach my breaking point. And then as I was brushing through her wet, tangled hair — the absolute worst time to finally lose my temper — that’s when I lost my temper. I started chewing her butt as I was pulling her bangs back into a ponytail and that’s when she lost it. She went from pouty to wounded. Oh, the weeping and the wailing. I just laid down the brush, said “Good luck!” and walked out. I still don’t know what I meant by “Good luck!” but it just popped out of my mouth so naturally and she didn’t question, “Good luck with what?” All I know is, I had to get ready for church and she cried for about 2 more minutes before she went into her room and started entertaining herself with her books and baby dolls. To hear her chirping in there, you would’ve thought nothing had ever happened.
And then we were off to church. That’s all Mama wanted — her daughter and granddaughter in church with her on Mother’s Day. And it just so happened to be baby dedication day, which was exceptionally cute. And then the pre-schoolers came out and sang a sweet song while pictures on the big projection screens flashed photos of happy mommys and their kids. I wondered how many of them had screamed at their children before church that morning….
And then after all the mommies had been acknowledged, I was hoping the pastor would say something comforting for the women sitting there smiling and blinking back tears while all this celebration of motherhood was going on around them, but he didn’t. Every Mother’s Day, I can’t help but remember how painful that day was for me when I was struggling to get pregnant. I was part heart-broken and part bitter. “Why not me, God?? Why every 16-year-old who spreads her legs and not me??” It was just a dark, sad time. And then to finally hear the words, “You’re pregnant!” — it didn’t seem real. How could that possibly be right?? But it was. And now I have a kid to scream at before church on Sunday morning. I hope every woman struggling with infertility is blessed to have a kid to scream at before Sunday morning one day soon.
Emma Kelly and I took my mama to the Arboretum for lunch and then we walked around and took a few pictures. What we got was beautiful and we would’ve stayed longer, but it was just becoming too difficult to take pictures without Cousin Bubba and Aunt Rita wandering into the shot. Apparently the Arboretum is a very popular Mother’s Day destination!
When all of our Grandmama-Mommy-Daughter time was done, I decided to go for a run. I don’t know what got into me, but I just felt like it…for about half a block. I thought I was going to die. But half a block became a full block. And somehow I ended up half-walking, half-running a couple of miles. Then I came home and ate about a pound of M&Ms. Yeah….that’s how I do it.
And THAT’S how I spent my Mother’s Day.