Mothers Day. Oh boy. In my lifetime, I have run the gamut on this holiday. As a child I looked forward to honoring my mother and her efforts on my behalf. As a young wife, I was eight (8) months pregnant on my first “married Mother’s Day.” I received the small gift passed out in church for the mothers. As I recall it was a bar of chocolate. As the years passed, I went through the “oh-boy-I-get-a-gift” phase to the “oh no! More sentiments expressing how wonderful mothers are! Excuse me, but I could really do without the guilt.” This Mother’s Day, I am most aware that my nest is emptying and my family size is diminishing. I still enjoy the chocolate but it really ticks me off when they buy the kind with nuts. ARGH!

Every year my family used to ask me what I wanted for Mother’s Day. I remember thinking about a gift for my mother months in advance. I started saving and shopping and scanning the Sears Roebuck catalogue. It was really important to find just the right thing. Something to make her delighted. Something to make her eyes smile. Not the fake smile, but, the real deal smile. This year, the only one who asked me what I wanted was my husband and I am quite certain he is not my child (although some of my friends think of their husband as one of the children)!

It hurts my feelings when they run out on Saturday evening and grab any gift they can locate at Walmart. When their friends are having a birthday or the holidays are approaching, I watch my children save and shop for their friends weeks in advance. When it is my birthday (well, let’s not even go there this year) or a special holiday, I am saddened to have become a duty or obligation they endure.

This morning, I found an old envelope. I opened it up and there were all my old Mother’s Day cards that my kids had written to me. Some of the early ones were so full of youthful love, enthusiasm and excitement. Those were the days when I was still on the top of their list. Barring a miracle tomorrow, I am pretty certain nothing could beat those childhood gifts that just keeps giving. Dang those darn memories of wet kisses and misspelled sentiments of love and devotion. What’s a mother to do? I am still looking forward to chocolate bars. Surely someone will remember those. Hold the nuts, please.