Ah, yes. The Mother’s Day pretending.
Advertisements claim it’s a magical day of appreciation and breakfast in bed. They are, of course, selling something.
Spouse pretends it’s going to be a happy day of family and bonding. And so it is. Sort of.
Peanut pretends it’s a day like any other. And so he yells at people for imaginary transgressions, threatens his brother with bodily harm for watching big kid play, sits next to me for long stories, jumps screaming from the furniture, uses enough tape on a variety of projects to seal the Grand Canyon, and smiles and whines and snuggles and orders and dances and sneers and kisses.
Butter pretends it’s a day like any other. And so he squeals with delight, toddles after his brother, cries when walloped by said brother, plays harmonica, parades through the house with prized possessions, unloads the drawers and cabinets he can reach, whimpers to be held, pulls my hair, kisses my nose, puts cold hands on my belly, bites my face, kicks my hands, and twirls my hair while sucking his thumb.
And I find that Mother’s Day is a microcosm of our lives as we’re living them. There are still dishes and laundry, there are laughs and frustrations, there are tickles and tantrums, there is extreme claustrophobia and hopes for the future, fears and silliness and satisfaction and dread and anger and fun.
It is, I guess, what you make of it. Within limitations. So I have a choice: focus on the limitations or make something of it.
“If you focus on results, you will never change. If you focus on change, you will get results.” ~Jack Dixon