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!