Mother's Day

Ah Mother’s day. Such a conflictual day. When you have kids and your mother is still alive it gets confusing. Especially little kids. When you think of Mother’s Day you think of your mother. Then you remember, hay, wait, I am also a mother, (if you are a woman, that is). Then, I don’t know about you, but I worry each year that my kids, who are little, are going to forget. There is always the card they make at school but they can’t wait until Sunday so you get it Friday. Then if you are lucky, you get a bowl of Cheerios in bed with your prize rose that was just starting to bud in the garden. That is actually really nice after the initial shock and before the shock of the cold milk as the bowl of Cheerios spills into your warm bed.




Anyway, then finally you figure out how to celebrate your own mother and yourself at the same time. Baby Boomers, this is a biggie cuz it can also bring up some of that fun guilt of taking care of parents and kids at the same time, but I am definitely not going there from here.



Here is a mother story for the day because it happened last night.. My son came home from school with a crayfish. They had built websites telling how to care for them and he was feeling proud. We bought food and some gravel and he lived in his Tupperware for a few days with the gravel in a bag beside it and some fish food. Within about a day my son of course lost interest and it was me feeding the stinky flakes to the New Orleans’s appetizer. But here is the funny part. This crayfish was a tough little bugger. Each time I came near him he lifted one claw and then the other like machetes with witch he planned to kill me. He looked me right in the eye with his tiny black dots for eyes and raised (I swear!) his tiny eyebrows. One time when he lifted his claws, he tapped them together twice in the center, just to let me know he was ready and able. I named him Karate Krawfish. No longer an appetizer, but now a true warrior in my home
So long story shortened. I fed him and decided my son’s desk was cold and boring, so I put KK into a vase with his blue stones and put him on my back deck to get some sun, then something crashed or called or beckoned and I left him. Did I mention I have a 100 pound goofy Weimeraner dog? Well, Remy (the 100 pounds) thinks he is funny when he’s really not. He takes stuffed animals and bras (and only these things) and brings them to the Killing Fields (which is actually the living room rug), where he plays with them and often, gentle giant, destroys them completely. I hear his tags jingling when he gets one as he runs up and down the stairs hoping I will hear him and chase him (mental note, get a dog trainer).
Anyway, I guess you know what’s coming. I walk down the steps to find Remy looking concerned standing near the rug. In the middle of the rug is KK, alive but hurt. I reprimand the dog and pick up KK (who I was previously terrified to touch) and put him in his vase, which I now place on the kitchen counter. I check his shell and see that the dog has torn a small section, but being of the cockroach family, I feed him, relieved and figure he will be okay. Sunny but safe on the counter and go back to the million things I am doing. Just before bed my son goes to see KK and discovers that he has in fact died afterall. We talk at length about what happened. After much deliberation, I tell him the truth, and he blames me until we have another talk about good intentions. I will save the lesson about how they lead to hell for another day. He ultimately understands and we decide to tell his teacher the whole story and see if we can get another Crayfish which we will keep up on the counter. End of story.
Well, not quiet. After my son falls asleep I have the pleasure of flushing KK. After I do, the strangest thing happens. I break down and cry. Yes, over a crayfish. Over the appetizer. All of a sudden I have this horrible feeling that I did not take care of him and he was hurt and killed on my watch. I liked him and he died anyway. I am overcome and completely embarrassed and surprised by my response. yes, I am crazy. But more importantly, I am a mother and I want to take good care of and keep the living beings on my watch alive. I didn’t want my son to lose his little pet. I didn’t want KK to die. I realize this is all wrapped into that crazy mother instinct that enables us to lift cars off of children, or who have instincts that guide us right to the correct conclusions based on little evidence. I realize, I am most certainly a mother, even with my mother alive and my son needs to be told (even if by me) that he needs to honor me at very least this one day a year…….

Anyway. Voila my rant for the day. Sorry to exclude you, dad’s, but you have your own damn day.