I get confused on Mother’s Day. My first instinct is to be there for my Mom. A close second, if not a full tie, is that I want to be with my kids. Do I want to be the mother or the motheree? Whose day is it really?

To add to this confusion, I have my Hallmark fantasies which I try to quell, but which sneak up regardless.

Ok, true confession: You’ve got to pay attention to your mom if you’re lucky enough to have her around. But you also want to have your kids show up and be there for YOU.  You want to be the perfect Mom AND the good daughter. But rarely does the twain meet.

Here’s my fantasy Mother’s Day:

  • Loving cards from my kids. I want them to come into my bedroom (fantasy that they are still living in my home which they are not), hang out on the bed, linger in our PJs and talk.
  • Also get a nice laugh from the funny card my husband gives me about our collective brood (step motherhood and blending our broods – another blog post altogether).
  • Fresh fruit cut up and artistically displayed by my adoring hubby in the kitchen downstairs, complete with fresh gourmet coffee, poached eggs and toast. My faves.
  • Everyone’s undivided attention — no one is on their iPhones — including me.
  • Over toast we have a lively conversation about the economy, China, being entrepreneurs with a smattering of gossip – we are all fully engaged.
  • We firm up our summer plans and – like magic – the dates we want to get together for our vacation work with everyone’s schedule. Plans confirmed with no headaches or last minute changes.
  • Breakfast over, we put on our biking gear and head out for a great 30-mile ride. Ahhh…

Fantasy Over.

Reality:  I wake up and no one’s home. Note on counter says they went to play golf, asking if I can get brunch together as there’s nothing in the house to eat. I throw on sweats and race out to Trader Joes. Who has time for coffee?

  • Whirlwind shop zig zagging between aisles before racing my fully loaded cart back to the car. Open the door to put my mega-groceries in and dent both mine and the next car over. SHIT.
  • Realize I forgot flowers for my mom who is coming over. Stop at plant store – groceries still in car – and get stuck in huge line of folks doing the same. The line is ridiculous but I’m determined (plus, dammed if I’m going out again!).
  • Ninety minutes later I’m back at the car – hoping the ice cream I bought hasn’t melted (now there’s a fantasy!).
  • Just as I’m running in the house, my mom calls asking if she can come early and hang out. Truthfully, I want to take a run but I tell her FINE, no problem (gold star for being good daughter).

Everyone shuffles in, hungry, sweaty and in mid-sentence. Barely a hello – everyone’s starving – so there’s a rush to the food, iPhones in hand.  Settled in, I take a breath, scanning my family’s beautiful faces round the dining table and exhale into a big smile. OMG, where are the bagels?

Mother’s Day Recipe for Disaster was last modified: by

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