Posts Tagged ‘mother’s day’
One of the drawbacks of living in New England is the RIDICULOUS AMOUNT OF TIME it takes for us to get to the flower-growing part of spring. Most years I jump the gun by about a month and all my flowers end up dead by the first of May, thanks to a late (and by late I mean not at all late because it happens every damn year) frost.I convince myself it’s totally normal to have to hack through a layer of frozen earth to get my pansies in the ground and not being able to feel my fingers because they’re so cold is just one of the joys of gardening. I can be a very convincing delusional person when I want to be. Especially on someone as gullible as myself.
This year I managed to wait until Mother’s Day – the unofficial start of flower season – before I
wasted spent any money at the local nursery. We’re going to be doing a lot of planting in a few weeks when we put in our patio (I hope you’re ready for a billion pictures of bricks and rocks! And listening to me complain about how tired I am of having dirt under my nails! And how much my back hurts! GOOD TIMES AHEAD!) so I stayed away from the gorgeous hanging baskets and containers and stuck to stuff I’ve been able to keep alive in the past.
Some day, planting flowers will be a family activity on Mother’s Day, right after my husband brings me gourmet breakfast in bed and puts away all the laundry while the children play me songs on their violins and read poetry about how much I mean to them.
But until hell freezes over, I’ll settle for playing in the dirt with my kids.
Wow, my flowers aren’t the only thing with roots in those photos huh? HEY-OH! Time to grab a box of Nice’n'Easy.
We had a wonderful time outside – all of us – and it was a nice reminder that fresh air is available right here in our own back yard! I often think about going to the park for some sunshine but talk myself out of it because it involves the car and driving and people and strollers and a potential screaming fit when it’s time to go home. But walking ten feet from my couch to the back steps is so easy I can do it even when I’m too lazy too put on real pants. I really can’t wait until we get our patio built and some nice loungy furniture to relax on while Evan rips my garden apart.
Today is Mother’s Day, and, just like birthdays, I never really understood how special a day it was until I had my own kids. It’s not about breakfast in bed or preschool craft projects or a card Dad bought and I just wrote my name on because I was too busy planning how to best get into trouble with my friends to remember which Sunday in May was supposed to be for you. It’s about saying how much I appreciate everything you did for me.
Thank you for all the homemade cookies and for never telling me I probably shouldn’t eat another one because I needed to be thin to make people like me.
Thank you for reading to me and for doing funny voices when we read The Hobbit. You were a better Gollum than that guy in the movie ever was.
Thank you for being so strict, because without your rules and boundaries I might have grown up too fast.
Thank you for telling me it was OK to change my mind if I didn’t want to be a marine biologist anymore after I went to college, because Holy Cow did I NOT want to be a marine biologist anymore after I went to college and it was such a relief to switch majors without worrying you’d be mad.
Thank you for showing me what a good marriage looks like – it’s amazing you and Dad are still so strong even though you got married at 22.
Thank you for being excited when I told you I was engaged, even though I was only 22.
Thank you for totally agreeing with me on every detail of my wedding and for laughing at mother-daughter pairs who fought over things like flower arrangements and plated appetizers.
Thank you for coming to help when I had my babies – I honestly don’t know what I would have done without you.
Thank you for being an amazing grandmother to Evan and Caroline and for always respecting my parenting choices.
I’m sorry for all the times I made you worry, the times I yelled at you, the screaming and crying and throwing myself on the floor (both as a toddler AND as an over-dramatic teenager), the broken curfews, the secrets I tried to keep, and that time I stopped speaking to you (even though I don’t think you even knew about it). I had to be a mom to understand how much your children can hurt you and how much it means to hear them say they didn’t mean to.
Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for being my mom.
Love, Your Daughter,