Tag Archives: mother’s day

Last Weekend Part 2

And now for the rest of Mother’s Day weekend.

(Sorry it’s late.  I became ill.  When I am ill, I revert to the 1800’s and take to bed waiting for someone to spoon feed me broth.  This never actually happens.)

If you want to forget it’s Mother’s Day, I highly recommend finishing a half marathon the day after spending 9 hours at Disneyland.  Then AFTER the half, spend the next 9 hours at California Adventure.  You will be so sore, you will forget what day it actually is.

At least that’s what happened to me.

I’ve been suffering from Plantar Fasciitis so I didn’t expect to finish.  I actually didn’t plan on doing it at all but there wasn’t anyone to sell my bib to and when you get to Disneyland you become possessed and think anything is possible if you wish upon a star.

So I walked down the green carpet and picked up my stuff and with the music and the people and the fairy dust, I declared to Amber that I was going to do it.  I thought I would just walk through the parks and meet all of the characters they had along the race. Then I would demand a metal because I’d already paid for it.

Amber and Brittany ran.  I said goodbye and turned on some NPR.

Because I didn’t care about my time, I posed.

I'm unsure I will ever run in tulle again.

I’m unsure I will ever run in tulle again.

And posed.

I find standing next to chipmunks to be slimming

I find standing next to chipmunks to be slimming

And posed.

I want to do a Star Wars race.

I want to do a Star Wars race.

And then I was out of the parks.

Here’s the thing.  I was almost halfway by then and I thought I could do it.  No biggie.

13.1 miles without training is a biggie.  But I kept going.  And I finished.

My headband says "Run like it's Midnight"

My headband says “Run like it’s Midnight”

I may not have told my podiatrist I did this.  He was not sure it would be beneficial to my foot.  I have yet to notice a difference but I may have put my healing back a while.

It’s not my fault.

Stupidity usually couples with stubbornness.

And there was that stupid fairy dust…

(I won’t be entering another race until I’m fully healed, however.  I at least learn.  Sometimes.  When I limp.)

Happy Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day is a fascinating day. Mothers either love it or hate it. I’ve met very few who do not have at least some opinion about it.

I’m somewhere in between.

I like receiving flowers but don’t want to eat breakfast. I love handmade gifts but sometimes I think there’s a lot of pressure to enjoy the day and be happy and pretend we know we are doing a good job.

I think that’s the part moms don’t like… The wondering if we are doing a good job.

But there’s no way to know. Right now my kids are really good. Yes they drive me nuts and they fight and they leave clothes everywhere and I have driven to my husband’s office to switch cars with him and leave him the car with the kids in it because I couldn’t take it anymore, but essentially they are really good kids.

That doesn’t guarantee they won’t make questionable decisions in the future.   And if they do, that doesn’t necessarily reflect on me as a mother.

I can try my hardest to be a good mom, whatever that may be, and love them and tell them I love them, but that doesn’t mean I won’t make mistakes and they won’t make mistakes and there is no way to measure what a good mom is.

So Mother’s Day can be hard to swallow.

At the same time, the fact we have taken on the role of parent should be respected and honored. It is not an easy job and on average, we are trying as hard as we can to do our best.

We should realize what a monumental task just trying to do right by our children is.  Especially in a time where we are bombarded with messages about just what a “good” parent is.  (I have been heard saying, “She’s a Pinterest Mom” with a mixture of shock, horror, envy and even a little fear in my voice.)

But, on average, we get up and take care of our kids and muddle through the best we know how.

That deserves a nice bouquet of flowers.

Or new shoes.  Lots of new shoes.

This isn't a perfect picture, but some things are better in real life.

I already have these shoes.  So they would not be a good Mother’s Day gift.

But I’d personally prefer a non-child made breakfast. (Unless the child is a pastry genius.)

Oh. And those weird church talks. I could do without those too.

(In the interest of full disclaimer, I am fleeing this Mother’s Day.  It’s just too much this year.  And I think it’s okay when the day can be too much to take a vacation from it.  I’m taking a literal vacation and going to California with two friends for 72 hours.  It’s just 72 hours but I still feel incredibly guilty for leaving my family on Mother’s Day.  Mother’s Guilt.  We need a day to celebrate that too.)

Post Apocalypse AKA Mother’s Day

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.

It’s Not Too Late To Enter

I’m still taking entries for the Average Mom contest. All you have to do is leave a comment as to why you’re just average and I’ll pick a random winner to get Harry and David Chocolate Covered Strawberries.
I know I usually post on Tuesday and Thursday but I saw the Good Morning America add for Breakfast in Bed with Emeril and I got ticked off on a Monday. It sometimes happens.
Look at Monday’s post for suggestions and Good Luck. (If you don’t win, you can do what I plan in doing and send some to yourself from a secret admirer.)

I’ll be choosing around 9 pm MST. Give or take my memory.

Here is a great example and first entry!!!

Here is a great example and first entry!!!