Mother’s Day is always a little weird for me. Having lost my mother when I was young, there’s always a tinge of sadness to the day which leads to guilt because then I feel like I’m robbing my kids of feeling like they give me a meaningful day and then I imagine this endless cycle of bad Mother’s Days for them and their children and their children’s children because I couldn’t just get my shit together and have fun, dammit. Whew, that was a sentence and a half, eh?
This year was different. It really was a Mother’s Week for me, as my daughter and her boyfriend came to visit and that was pretty great because I don’t see her very much now that she’s grown and at college. I’ve been sick for most of the time I’ve been in our new place. Either I’m sick or I’m allergic to my new state. Personally, I blame the lack of humidity in this town. How is a lady who basically lived in a swamp her whole life supposed to deal with 59% humidity?
My daughter left on Saturday morning, but before they left I got to open my gifts. I got more Lush bath bombs, which I knew because the entire time my daughter and I were in Lush she kept telling me to look away. I also got some pajamas because I’m a fan of comfortable lounge wear. Who isn’t, really? And, I got a new wedding band. This is my fourth wedding band in four years. They’re fakes. Don’t go thinking my husband is an oil tycoon or something.
The original one is real, but when I started Tamoxifen my hands shriveled up and it didn’t fit me anymore, so we got a smaller (fake) one. Then, when I was on Gleevec my hands ballooned. I had real sausage fingers for awhile there. So, we got a way bigger (fake) one. When I was on Nexavar the hand foot skin reaction was so bad I couldn’t tolerate having anything on my hands so I just went without. Now that I’m off everything none of them fit so he bought me another (fake) one. It’s purdy and it fits.
Sunday was the first day that I felt relatively well, so I ran some errands in the morning. Basically, Jojo does not give a shit that it’s my day, so I had to get cat food. After that we went to an aviation museum and saw The Miracle on the Hudson, the actual plane Sully landed in the Hudson River. It was pretty spectacular. We saw a whole bunch of other planes, military jets, and an old Eastern Airlines prop plane. I assume they didn’t bloody and drag their passengers down the aisles in those days.
After that we went to the Farmer’s Market. It was kind of late in the day and pretty dead, but the husband bought me a gigantic bouquet of flowers that I kept knocking into things. I bought some honey from an adorable old lady who also sold jams and jellies. She told me there are Amish in this state (who knew?) and they made all the delectable treats she was peddling. It kind of blew the mystique for me. I wanted her to be making it in her very own kitchen while wearing a bonnet and singing. That honey was ten damn dollars. Shit better taste like gold. Also, I had to pretend that the muscadine wine I sampled didn’t taste like rotten corpse. I should get an Oscar for that.
Afterwards, we went home and I put my gigantic flowers in a vase and tried to keep the cat from eating them every 3.2 seconds. I was unsuccessful. They are now in the bathroom with the door shut, so I get to see them every time I take a piss. That’s nice. Thanks, Jojo.
One of my favorite things to do is text my sister during any episode of any Real Housewives show. On Sundays, it’s The Real Housewives of Atlanta, which is a misleading title because I think only one of them is an actual wife. Mocking vapid people with her via text has eased the pain of being so far away. Plus, it’s just plain hilarious. You should try it with your long lost loved one.
After that, I got sucked into an episode of American Pickers and got lost in the splendor that is the Frankenstein couch chair. See, we had to make space for our daughter and her boyfriend in the back room, so we moved the two chairs in there together and pushed them against the wall and inadvertently made the most comfortable furniture hybrid to ever exist. The problem is, just like with the mafia, once you’re in you really can’t ever get out. So, I fell asleep there and was too tired to wash my face last night and woke up looking like a damn raccoon, but it was worth it.
The best part technically didn’t happen on Mother’s Day because it was like 2 or three in the morning, but it’s my day so I’m going to say it counts. I’ve been having trouble with anxiety for awhile now. I’m not sure if it’s the move or if my thyroid hormones are still out of whack or what, but it’s been difficult. Last night I woke up, heart racing, worrying about everything and nothing at once, so I began to pray. I know it seems odd that I may be the praying sort, given that I say the word fuck A LOT, but I do it and it helps from time to time.
So, I say, God help me get through this and a split second later I hear the loudest owl hoot I’ve heard in my whole damn life. I would have sworn he was sitting on my forehead when he made it. It was that loud. Then, I prayed some more and more hooting. Every few seconds a hoot as loud as a fog horn. Then, I fell asleep. Now, my Catholic parents would most likely think my thinking God was hooting at me was heresy of the highest order, but I’m grown now and this is my take on God, Mom and Dad. God hooted at me last night and it made me feel better. So take that.
I hope y’all had a nice Mother’s Day. If you didn’t. I’m sorry. I hope today is better for you. Listen for the owl hoots. They’re very soothing.