Mothers' Day Kerfuffle!

Dear Friends,

As I’m waiting for my firstborn to arrive, and bestow upon me the due love and respect, (the younger one made this day about his wife, the mother of his two lovely daughters), I wonder what Freud would’ve said about all this Mother’s Day Kerfuffle! 

Every Mother’s Day, I feel for all the children (young or old) who have lost their mothers. I also think of those women who are not mothers, by choice or fate, and all those who had to give back their title because they lost their children. And then, inevitably, I think of myself, and my mother.

As a child, my first encounter with Mother’s Day was at the age of eight. We had just returned to Iran, where appreciating mothers was a novel celebration. My brother’s teacher had the good sense of having her students make “something” for their mothers, but mine sent us home empty-handed. When I saw that smug look on my brother’s face, I searched in my belongings and found a handkerchief and a small mirror worthy of wrapping. As if my mother couldn’t have figured out by herself, my brother had to bring to her attention that my offering was nothing but an afterthought “objet trouvé." 

My mother accepted my present with a smile, but I heard her for days, boasting about my brother’s handiwork. I felt so ashamed, so small.

As I grew older, I learnt to ask my father for money, and my grandmother for gift ideas. 

My first memory of Mother’s Day as a mother was when I was eight months pregnant with my first child. There was a big celebration at my in-laws. My husband had just arrived from a business trip. Both my mother and sister-in law were showing off the sparkly jewelry they had received from their husbands, on behalf of their children. When I looked at my husband in anticipation, he smiled and said I was not a mother yet! As I waddled into the kitchen, tears of disappointment running down my swollen cheeks, my mother-in-law took off three of her gold bangles and gave them to her son, to show his expecting wife some respect and affection. I felt so ashamed, so small.

I don’t believe I ever wore the damn bangles, but I never forgot about them, either.

As new immigrants, my boys learnt to show their appreciation for their mother the Canadian way — breakfast in bed and a messy kitchen to clean up! I should’ve savored the runny eggs accompanied by burnt toasts and extra-sweet tea longer, since they were the most sincere display of pure, unconditional love.

Almost forty mother days later, I can only think of my shortcomings as a mother, and my unreasonable demand to be celebrated. I should’ve enjoyed my Day while the list of my sins were shorter. Accepted and filed! What have you accepted and filed today?