what a letdown
My Mother’s Day was spent on a flight back from Atlanta.
During this trip, I stared at beautiful Instagram shots of mothers and their children in fields of lavender (I’m not making this up) reading captions like, “My life was nothing until little ____ was born.”
Here’s the truth: I admire those who feel like this but I do not feel like this.
As a matter of fact, my Mother’s Day entailed a flight back from Atlanta* where I recall having more than my usual quota of disagreements with Maya.
(*Incidentally, we had a great time in Atlanta. Great hotel, great food, great weather. I don’t want this post to be totally negative – just like 98% negative.)
I lectured Maya about mixing her clean and dirty clothes in her suitcase, “For God’s sake, it’s not like this is the first trip you’ve ever taken – you know better. Now I have to wash EVERYTHING because you were too lazy to get a plastic bag.”
I also believe I whispered on our flight (in that scary – I’m-About-To-Lose-My-S@#$-Lethal-Whisper) that “I can’t be responsible for what might happen if you kick me or my purse one more time.”
But the icing on the cake was the fact that Maya did absolutely nothing to mark the day. She didn’t even give me a card.
For a minute I wanted to blame Ali, as this is how I get through most things that anger me, but then I realized that:
- Although it may often seem like it, I’m not Ali’s mom, so why should he worry about Mother’s Day?
- Plus he was traveling prior to Atlanta so he couldn’t exactly facilitate anything.
- And at 11-years-old Maya is old enough to know better.
Frankly, it’s been a week and I’m still annoyed. It’s like not like I asked for a designer handbag or something…I just wanted a card.
So in summary, Mother’s Day = a day with tons of Hallmark-created expectations and very little delivery.
Especially in my house.