Ah, Mother’s Day.
Mother’s Day is not one of my favorite holidays. In the weeks and days leading up to it, I get a lot of anxiety. That anxiety leads to a lot of thoughts. Those thoughts lead me to take stock in all the things I’ve done wrong in the 25 years I’ve been a mom.
My husband, while a very sensitive man, tends to keep the day on the down-low. In the past, he’s (with the help if the chil’ren) made me things I treasure to this day. He “forces” me to sit and do what I wish for the day. He’ll either made dinner or take me out. But Mother’s Day is also a reminder of losing his own mom with whom he was extremely close. To hear him tell it, she was a remarkable woman, and I wish I’d had the opportunity to meet her. So, a low-key day is probably the best idea.
Except it never fails that all my doing nothing on Sunday means I have extra things to do on Monday. But if that’s the worse thing I have to complain about, then I’m doing okay.
This year hit me hard. It’s the first year I’ve not cried at least once, which is progress considering prior years. But between my daughter in the middle of making a major life decision, my older son living “out of the country” in the words of the Army, and the youngest son days away from graduation, I felt sort of…bleh. I went and saw my mom for a bit, but she tends to be like me and doesn’t like “a fuss being made over her.” But other than that, I was alone all day. Even the animals were hiding in their respective corners.
I will always remember; however, this year was the year that the youngest signed his card to me, ‘Love.’ He’d quit doing that somewhere in middle school. Now that I recall, I did have a tear or two over that yesterday.
The few times I scrolled quit through social media, I saw a varying display of highs and lows.
At the very least, I know I’m not alone.