My five-year-old’s all in a dither about Mother’s Day. Our nursery school has a special tea on Friday, and the adult women were strictly prohibited from entering the classroom yesterday as the kids worked on their super-mysterious projects. I peeked through the window, and, as usual in cases like this, the rest of the children had moved on while J continued to toil away, flushed with excitement over her beautiful creation. Afterwards, we stopped at Price Chopper (which, I learned via Albany Kid, has a $5 Build a Bouquet offer for kids) and we spent quite a bit of time lingering over the flowers. “Mommy, do you think that Daddy and I could come here later?” she asked. Sure! I answered. Then I decided, what the heck, and pointed out my favorites: the hyacinths, the mini-roses, and the azalea trees, all still in dirt.
After we’d gotten home, J approached me again. “Could you write down your favorite flowers on a piece of paper?” she asked. I chuckled and said with mock suspicion, “But why?” “Oh, I was just curious, and I thought that I might show them to Daddy.” Later, at dinner, we were talking about sending packages to the grandmothers, and J misunderstood, thinking that I was fretting that I might not get anything. “Oh, don’t worry! You’ll probably get something!” And then she blushed and hid her face behind her hands so that she wouldn’t give herself away.
As we cleared the table, J told me that she thinks that I’m the second-best mother ever. “Oh, really. . . ? And who’s number one?” She responded somewhat apologetically, “Well, I was really thinking that Jesus’ Mommy is probably the very best.” Which is particularly surprising, since we UUs are not particularly well-known for the Cult of Mary or anything.
Speaking of religious preferences, I’ve noticed that Mother’s Day has become quite what my father always calls “a pagan festival”–it just seems to go on and on for days. It’s a little bit sad for W, because Father’s Day is always right near M’s birthday. Frankly? He gets the shaft. But everyone seems to pay more attention to Mother’s Day than to Father’s Day, anyway. . . is it just me? I almost feel like the various organizers don’t trust the husbands to get their kids working on a Mother’s Day gift, so they make it as easy as possible by planning storytimes and drop-in crafts and supermarket deals. These can get a little ridiculous at times. I remember one storytime when M was a toddler and J was an infant, and the craft that they included was to make a particular gift for Mom. I can’t remember what the craft was, but I do remember that parts of it were a bit too challenging for most of the kids in the room. So it was this vast room full of mothers who were sitting on the floor, diligently cutting and pasting little gifts for themselves, while their children became bored and rummaged through diaper bags for Cheerios and a sippy. Good times.
Another portion of the Mother’s Day pagan festival is Momxchange‘s Mom’s Night Out this Thursday night in Albany. I’m going. Anyone want to come with me?