Mother’s Day never tops my list of favorite holidays. And if asked a few years ago for my feelings on the matter (as if anyone really asks Moms what they think or, if they do, as if they’d get the real answer), I would’ve huffed and asked you to sign my petition to eradicate the “holiday” altogether. Loving and respecting moms doesn’t need a special day—it’s every day. And as a Mom, it’s a lot of pressure—on my family to spend money they shouldn’t and on me to gush with tears and gratitude and smile while we go out to too-busy restaurants when, if I’m honest, a real “day just for me” would mean wine, the couch, Chinese food, and a marathon of murder shows. Hmm, does that sound sad?
I know this is starting out harsh—maybe even dark—but hang in there.
My anti-Mother’s Day bent developed mid-way through my mothering years when the kids grew out of homemade gifts (I still love those) and opted for nicer (more expensive) things while figuring out special gifts for my Mom and mother-in-law grew more difficult. How many perfume bottles, fancy scarves, or framed grandkid pics does one woman really need?
It started to feel like a meaningless holiday—like Valentine’s Day—invented for the masses by Hallmark, florists, and big chain restaurant conglomerates.
Then there’s all the actual day—where to eat and what to do, choices that are usually “up to me.” Enacting a plan is WAY better than coming up with one, especially since moms are preprogrammed not to spend money or tolerate being fussed over. Should the day be “about me” or about visiting our moms? And in the end, isn’t it really about the kids, anyway? It’s a challenge enjoying Mother’s Day when you’re doing the usual Mom thing, that is, trying to make it nice for everyone else.
Besides, Mother’s Day lost all its charm when I lost my own. After that, it became a reminder that she was no longer here to graciously accept the perfume and grandkid pics. Or to visit. Or talk to. Or have my back. Or get on my back. Or anything. And that day, more than most, turned me into a sad sack.
So, leading up to this Mother’s Day, I was in a mood.
Then, this happened…
Sitting in our backyard, grilling kabobs for dinner, this little guy wandered up like a neighborhood kid asking, “What’s for dinner?”
He lingered, alone, looking weak and distressingly content with humans. So, my animal-loving, vet-to-be daughter swung into action. Googling what to do led us to a helpful website and confirmed our fears—this critter was too small to survive on its own. It needed… mothering.
The most likely one for the job, given my twenty-five years of experience, you might think this Mother’s Day story is about me offering emergency mothering.
Ha! Wrong! The story gets better because while I offered encouragement and suggestions, Abby did all the work.
Eighteen and college-bound, Abby loves animals the way I love writing. With an old towel, she scooped up the opossum baby like a seasoned pro, created a box-home for it, and made it feel safe with water, cat food, a warm water bottle for heat, and soothing, motherly words.
For a mom, there’s nothing better than seeing the kind and beautiful way your adult children are with others. Nothing gives a mother more joy than witnessing all you tried to teach them come to reality in their actions.
Like with my son, Ethan… He showed up next with his girlfriend, two cats, and a bag of dirty laundry. He’d driven five hours to surprise me on Mother’s Day. My bearded and tattooed twenty-five-year-old may not look it, but he’s a real softy, especially when it comes to Mom (he should really get a tattoo for me next).
So, leading into Mother’s Day, I had what all mothers love… a full house, food I didn’t have to fix, a houseguest (or rather, garage-guest) I didn’t have to take care of, and most of all, my funny, loveable, cuddly little family (though, I did have to force the cuddles—what’s Mother’s Day if you can’t use it, right?).
On Mother’s Day morning, Abby and I were up early to check on our new friend, but he’d escaped his comfy, lidded box. He didn’t get far and at first glance… you guessed it… looked dead.
But he wasn’t. Thank God! No Mom wants to spend Mother’s Day consoling her kid and bitching about careless opossum moms leaving their babies everywhere! Abby expertly recovered and reassured him.
And a few hours later, he was safely delivered to Coastal Carolina Wildlife Rehab. If you’re looking for a charity to support, this is a great one! Imagine the oh-possum-bilities!
Inspired by the opossum and my family, I embraced the real spirit of Mother’s Day.
A late brunch at my chosen spot, The Gulf Stream in Carolina Beach, pleased our tummies and energized us for a boardwalk stroll and Britt’s Donuts.
Joe and I even took a not-so-bad selfie.
And later like the true homebody I am, we enjoyed family crafting, thanks to splurging at Michael’s for paintable ceramics (and all the paint-on-pottery-type places being closed on Sunday–humph), and Joe’s Reubens for dinner. Murder shows didn’t happen—we watched Beavis and Butthead instead. But it was all okay. More than okay. Quite exceptional.
Oh, and I got presents…
*and this hilariously snarky card from my daughter
And gorgeous yellow roses, guarded from our curious cat, Jimothy, by my new desk toy, Ellen Ripley. Aliens is one of my favorite all-time movies.
Aliens is truly the perfect Mother’s Day movie, by the way.
Oh, and bonus points (or mega-respect) for anyone who knows how these two things are linked…
If you know how they’re connected, share the answer below. Only a true fan would get it…
So, things learned about Mother’s Day…
It’s not an easy day for everyone.
Sometimes we feel like lost, little opossums.
But letting our families scoop us up always makes it better.
For more positive vibes, check out my 100 Ways to Celebrate, How to Boost Productivity & Happiness in 5 Minutes, How to Stay Positive When Plans Go Awry, and, my favorite, Best Ways to Get Murdered (in a Mystery Series) because, you know, I’m snarky.
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