A Series of Insignificant Events

Mother’s Day always feels weird when I’m not with my mom. In Memphis, Mother’s Day is about on par with Easter in terms of Important Dress Wearing Occasions and visits to the dining room at the country club (mmmmm . . . exclusivity . . .). In Atlanta, it’s really just another Sunday. It also feels weird because, for the last 4 years or so, I’ve spent the weeks leading up to it completely stressed out about whether or not thousands of moms across America and Puerto Rico will receive their photo mugs and mousepads in time to feel deeply loved and appreciated by people too cheap to buy them a day at the spa or some nice jewelry or perhaps a lovely orchid (Hi, Mom!).

(For the record, I also sent my mom a cute picture of my cat that I took with my cell phone camera while still in bed this morning- because I just care THAT much.)

However, in spite of being separated from my own mom, the day was not without various maternally themed encounters.

Case in point: in honor of the moms (at least that’s what I’m told), some teenagers at my church did a little performance art piece in the middle of the service this morning to demonstrate how much Jesus loves us even when Bad Things get in the way (Boys! Money! A Beer!). At about the point where this girl was pantomiming slitting her wrists (yes, seriously), I started rolling my eyes and thinking “Ok, this is a little maudlin, isn’t it?” And then, because I have the emotional fortitude of a hungry, angry baby, I cried anyway, dammit. Really though- nothing really says “I love you, Mom!” like pantomiming suicide in church. But for Jesus!

Later, at the store, I eavesdropped on a woman and a little girl I presume was her daughter talking about hamsters. They were actually discussing how hamsters might die (apparently dryers are often involved), and the woman started talking about how some of her favorite hamsters had died when she was a child. She wistfully recalled her two favorites: Peanut Butter and Don Julio. The former had died of some dryer-related incident (I think he was left on top of one while a cycle was running, so I guess maybe he had a little hamster heart-attack?), but I didn’t stick around long enough to learn the fate of Don Julio. Perhaps he was air-fluffed to death. Regardless, aside from the obvious awesomeness of just knowing a child somewhere named their hamster Don Julio, I was really taken with how candid this adult and child were with one another- especially considering they were talking about beloved pets dying. Both were very straightforward and unsentimental and incredibly familiar with one another. It was sweet- much more so than the teenagers pretending to blow their brains out (that was after the wrist-slitting, which apparently isn't enough).

The cashier at the same store wished me a happy Mother’s Day as I was leaving. She was so nice about it that I said “thanks!” without even thinking. Upon further reflection, I feel like maybe we should start treating Mother’s Day the same way we do the honorary day formerly known as Secretary’s Day in that we should probably stop assuming that all women fall into one or both of those categories. It doesn’t REALLY upset me that this woman thought I had babies (ok, it does, but I guess since I am rapidly approaching 30 I should start being less taken aback by the assumption), but I felt the same way when someone gave me a plant and a card for Administrative Assistant’s Day when I had my first job. I wasn’t anyone’s assistant then, and I’m not anyone’s mother now. Unless you count my cat, which I’m told I should refrain from doing if I ever want to find myself a nice husband and have real human babies. That and buy a push-up bra. Anyway, I guess I appreciate the sentiment . . . ?

For the record, it is an absolutely beautiful day in Atlanta. I’m writing this from my rooftop deck where it is sunny, breezy, and warm. Ok, incredibly windy is more like it, but it’s still pleasant. I’m hoping to do a better job of keeping this up- not because I think everyone is interested in my life, but because it’s good for me. Also, I know that it will make Brian Lynch so, so happy, and if he’s happy, maybe my Summer League core has a fighting chance. Just maybe . . .