She’s so selfless, she doesn’t even know this day is about her.
The second Sunday in May has been Mother’s Day in America since Woodrow Wilson declared it in 1914. To our brood of lucky children, my wife is definitely their mother.
So it caught me off-guard earlier in the week when my gal admitted she doesn’t think the day is about her.
Her mind remains in the frame of her youth, when Mother’s Day meant lavishing homemade cards and hugs on her own mother. Despite the years gone by, that hasn’t changed.
The same is true with my own mother, who somehow survived raising seven of us in a range from timid to rambunctious. (For perspective’s sake, I was one of the more timid children. My rambunction developed after I left the house.)
So as we plotted Mother’s Day weekend, it had very little to do with my wife’s desires for the day. I know exactly what her perfect day would look like.
It starts with someone clearing out the dishwasher before she has to ask someone to do it. Most of my wife’s fantasies involve someone doing something on their own, long before someone has to ask them.
Then there’s a big box of donuts for us to eat before church. Why donuts instead of pancakes or eggs and bacon in bed? No dishes. (See that first part of this fantasy.)
After church, we’d get pizza. Why pizza? Paper plates. (If you’ve ever had six people in a household, including three under 10 years old, before, you know maintaining a clean kitchen is next to impossible.)
Then we’d spend the whole afternoon lazily choosing out flowers at a nearby shop. We’d plant them the same afternoon.
But again, she’s so selfless, that’s not how we’re going to spend the day at all.
No, we spent Saturday visiting her mother, enjoying a farmer’s market with her mother.
Sunday, we’ll spend the afternoon at one of my sisters’ houses, vying for my mother’s attention amid the crowd that comes with all those children each having several children of their own. My mom always says how much she enjoys seeing everyone together, although she seems pretty exhausted when she and my dad leave these events a little bit early.
I suspect maybe she’d rather be planting flowers too. But again, for mothers, they’re so selfless they don’t even know this day is about them.
That’s what we love about them.