Mother’s Day is one of the more fascinating holidays, in my opinion. Some women love it and spend the day posting cute little pictures on social media. Some women loathe it and spend the day posting scathing comments on social media. Actually, those usually come before Mother’s Day.
There’s no definitive test to motherhood. At the same time, there seems to be a lot of scrutiny on mothers. They seem to be the deciding factor on whether or not people will succeed or fail in life. Which only kind of makes sense because great moms can have truly rotten kids and rotten mothers can have wonderful kids who “rise above it all.”
My kids were very kind on Mother’s Day. They helped make breakfast and they’d made gifts for me at school. I wore two handmade pins and I read how my youngest loves me because I make him cake and my oldest wrote I’m best at “running and calling it jogging.”
I smiled all day. It was exhausting.
But I do a have a teeny, tiny problem with Mother’s Day. Every year, I get a plant. It may be from a child or from church or from a friend, but I get one just the same. Plants distress me.
I can’t keep them alive.
So on Mother’s Day, the day that celebrates my ability to raise human beings, I am given a living object I can’t keep alive. Do you see the paranoia this can cause? It’s like I’m given a gift that screams : “MURDERER!”
It makes it very difficult to keep smiling.