This is a last-minute post, because lately I’m a last-minute kind of gal. June gets out of control so quickly, between birthdays and father’s day and the end of school and the onset of summer activities and camps and swim team and stinking hot weather. Try as I might, I just can’t seem to get my act together for Father’s Day. Which is upsetting, because I’m blessed with a wonderful dad, an amazing husband and fantastic father-in-law.
And so, this year, I’ve decided to give the gift of self. Gift cards to purchase, for themselves, whatever they want without having to feel guilty. For my husband, the gift of self means a day of golf, uninterrupted USOpen coverage on the tube, and a cookout with his best friends — all of whom became dads simultaneously and all of whom have celebrated together ever since.
Think about it. Dads give so much of themselves to their families…what better gift than to give a little bit of that back to them??
…more like my mama showed me!
Since entering the hallowed halls of mama-dom, inordinate quantities of my mother’s maternal methodology have been assimilated — often shockingly so — into my own parenting protocol.
Surely, you know the surprising “traditions” to which I refer — those “when I’m a mother, I’ll never _____” rituals that until becoming a parent yourself, you’re blissfully unaware the maligned mommy-moves are hereditary. Cases in point: licking a finger in order to remove mystery schmutz from a baby’s face, the sing-songy “airplane into the hangar” spoon maneuver/food enticement method, and the repeated panic calls to the night nurse on duty…
Time to prepare for the mother of all days. Speak openly with your would-be gift givers about what would make this Mother’s Day most memorable for you: a transcendent trip, an insightful investment, a tchotchke worth cherishing.
This year, I’m tapping into yet another of my mother’s annual observances. On Mother’s Day eve, some petite hands will be placed in Plaster of Paris — simply for sentiment’s sake.
Happy Mother’s Day to all!