Happy Smother's Day

I want to be smothered this Mother’s Day — smothered with attention, hugs, good food, and scintillating conversation.

Presents are not necessary, although my kids feel obliged to give me things I don’t need, don’t want, are fattening or will wilt then die.

I’m not a mom who puts a guilt trip on her adult kids by pretending not to recognize their voice when they get around to calling. I’m lucky. I have a good relationship with my three grown kids and they have long forgiven me for some parenting mistakes I may have made when they were growing up.

Those egregious parenting “mistakes” include: Not allowing them to eat candy except at Halloween; not buying them designer labeled clothing; making them pick up the dog poop as they agreed to do when we adopted a number of adorable but high-maintenance pets.

Whether it was luck, good genes, or parenting skills, my kids are great and I should let them know more often then the “love you” I slip in at the end of a phone conversation, or the “love you” I scribble on their birthday cards along with a check.

This year my youngest son has invited the family over for a Mother’s Day barbeque at his home. He has turned out to be a fantastic cook —h e didn’t get that skill from me, for sure. I inherited my lack of cooking skills from my mom who burned everything that went into a pot or pan. She could burn water. My dad was no better. 

There were times when the kids were young and stayed overnight at grandpa’s, he would make pancakes for them in the morning. At first they would look at each other when he served pancakes an inch thick and black on both sides. Then they would drown them in two inches of maple syrup and dig in. They loved their grandpa and he always thought they loved his pancakes.

All these stories that make me smile when I remember them and are filed somewhere in the part of my brain that is spongy and allows for leaks. I’ll get around to writing my memoirs one of these days and will include those sweet nuggets and some not so sweet.

I’m looking forward to being honored for being a mom. It was hard work but I must admit, it went by fast. There were many ups and many not-so-ups. The kids are all in their 40’s now and I can remember when Diana graduated from pre-school looking so proud with her hand-made mortar board and tassel. Darin showed off the go-kart that he and his dad built, and when Mark showed potential playing pool at five — though he could barely see over the top of the table.

This Mother’s Day we will gather once again and although politics is a subject we agreed not to discuss, there will be conversation about what the grandkids are doing in school, good books read and to read, critiques of what is good and bad on television, how work is going for each and the weather.

If I am lucky, they will smother me with stories they remember from the good old days and I will bask in those balmy memories, my eyes will glisten and I will feel assured that this is as good as it gets. 

Happy Mother’s Day to all you wonderful, hard-working moms. May you be smothered with love and kindness. You deserve it.