This isn’t the first time I’ve written about Mother’s Day after Mother’s Day.
I can attribute some of that to writing ahead of time and not being as aware of the calendar as I should.
I can attribute some of it to being one of those last-minute Mother’s Day sons who is very lucky to have a wife who takes care of business when it comes to special occasions and who likes to see me panic before telling me she’s already sent a nice package.
And I suppose I can attribute some of it to the fact that when I remember Mother’s Day at the last minute, I have some Mother’s Day remorse for not being more thoughtful and, thus, feel I need to make it up with some words.
Naturally, I always deflect any criticism by reminding the mothers in my life, (my mother, my mother-in-law and my wife), that every day is Mother’s Day to me and I always try to make them feel special, but more often than not that gets me a smack up the side of the head, something my wife never used to do until my mother trained her.
I can’t really explain this absent mindedness when it comes to special occasions, but if it’s any consolation, this isn’t the only one that can sneak up on me. Frankly, I blame my mother, who took care of all of these events when I was young, reminding me to get a card or gift and if I didn’t move to do so six weeks ahead of the occasion, she’d get them and set them in front of me to sign. Mind you, she didn’t do this for Mother’s Day, but I had an older sister, who took after my mother and, thus, I only had to sign the card and terribly thoughtful expressions of love and appreciation made their way to my mom.
When I was young, I thought this was all very civilized and decent that they’d help me out this way, but it turns out they were really just setting a trap.
When I went off to university, someone would mention an upcoming Mother’s Day and I’d relax figuring that 48 hours was plenty of time for a card and nice gift to appear before me for the signing. None of my girlfriends seemed to buy into this notion and I’d often find myself in the florist shop, or local convenience store, at the eleventh hour, overpaying for some flowers that were a week past their prime. Procrastination in matters of motherly appreciation has its price. You’d think I’d learn.
Alas, I had to wait to find the right woman to marry to keep my family and social obligations neat and tidy and set out on the dinner table for me to sign. I’m not saying this is her only good quality, but I can’t deny that her skills in this area complement my forgetfulness and more than once she has saved me from the considerable embarrassment, and potentially serious blow to the side of the head, that forgetting my mother on Mother’s Day could bring.
So this year, I gave my wife a Mother’s Day card, thanking her for sending my mother a card. Aside from the lump I now have just over my left ear, I think that move may have resulted in the necessity for me to do some serious work on programming events into my computer so that I remember them myself.
Oh, and I’m likely going to be buying a few flowers every time I go for a loaf of bread or a bag of milk from now on, at least until this little storm blows over
After all, you can’t love the women in your life too much or send them too many flowers or cards.
Graham Hookey is an educator and writer. Email him at ghookey@yahoo.com.
