Mother's Day

Yesterday was Mother's Day in the US, and I was treated to a lovely spa day by my considerate family.  After a long morning of sleeping-in, I was whisked by limo to hours of massages, facials, pedicures...

Of course, that day actually occurred in some strange, alternate universe. 

Instead, my day began at 7, when I got up early to clean the house for the in-laws, who were coming over for brunch. I also had to cook that brunch; good thing I bought the ingredients the day before in between takes at the dance studio. 

(It was Dance Picture day on Saturday, complete with costume changes and make up on 8 year old's face; we're talking mascara here. All I can say is: SHUDDER)

I really don't mind about the cooking and the cleaning; would take that over standing in a two hour line to eat a meal at a crowded restaurant any day. Plus, when I serve the meal at home, we get to linger over our mimosas as long as we want without an annoyed waiter hovering and clearing his throat in a "We really need that table NOW" way.

No, the true fun began when I had to get 8 year old kid (who had to be changed into costumes and make up the day before, remember) into suitable church clothes. She was singing in the choir - in fact, she had a solo of six words long - so she had to look presentable.

Let me just share a quick secret with you all: she could go to church in cut-offs and a hole cut into a tablecloth as a poncho, and I wouldn't care. Heck, she could wear that dance costume from the pictures. My feeling is: I got my family to church relatively clean, what more do you want?

But no, "certain other people" (husband) don't agree. So I had to bully and chivvy kid into skirt - I know, the horror - and shirt that didn't have a T in front of it. 

After church, the day went well. The waffles turned out crispy and delicious. The mimosas flowed. the bacon disappeared in 30 seconds... all was right with the world. 

I even got to sneak upstairs for a ten minute nap at one point. Winning!

The true festivities, however, began at eight o'clock at night. That was when my daughter remembered she needed to bring in a book about the planets, with many planetty facts, to school on Monday. Yes, the classic "I just recalled my homework that I had all weekend to do" move which makes all parents want to curl up in a fetal position.

EXCELLENT gift!

There are no libraries or bookstores open at 8 PM on Sunday in our town.

Therefore, Mother's Day ended for me by writing a book on planets, complete with pictures, and printing it out. Did you know that Pluto was no longer a planet? You want to know why? Because its kids drove it to a gaseous death, that's why.

Finally got kid into bed and settled down to Mad Men with my husband. I admit I was eyeing up the Mimosa leftovers. Was just about to pour, when my daughter's bedroom door opened - she had a nightmare and I had to go and lie down with her and put her to sleep, again. I blame the waffles.

So, Mother's Day for me (and, I suspect for many others) was truly a MOTHER'S day. I was a mom in every sense of the word. 

All day long.

Her First Confession

I know I'm on a bit of a Catholic kick this week. As I explained yesterday, that's because my daughter is preparing for FHC (First Holy Communion.) And, as someone who is completely new to the church, I am watching all this with awe.


Today is the day she makes her first penance. Of course, as a writer and reader, the first thing that came to my mind was the Irish short story First Confession, by Frank O'Connor. O'Connor describes a little boy who confesses the crime of wanting to kill his grandmother because she drinks porter and takes snuff "and goes around in her bare feet."


I find myself wondering what the terrible sins will be that are confessed today. I've imagined a few of them:


"I stole Timmy's gum."


"I laughed when the teacher tripped over the trashcan in class."


"My mom punished me and I called her an Old Poop Head."


I can only think that the priest in our church is rubbing his hands right now, looking forward to some fair measure of entertainment. I have to admire him for NOT bursting out laughing in that confession box. How will he accomplish it?


In O'Connor's story, it's obvious that the priest is "kilt" with laughter. At the end of the terrible deeds, he gives the little boy a bag of "bullseyes," or peppermints. This enrages the sister, who had foretold dire punishments for her brother. She concludes at the end, "'Tis no advantage to anybody trying to be good. I might just as well be a sinner like you."


I'll never know what the Father gets to hear today. But I can imagine it, and get a chuckle too.