Truth be told, I’m not a huge fan of Mother’s Day. I probably wouldn’t have thought much about it, but my Facebook news feed is chock full of good wishes for mothers, making me feel compelled, of course, to write something in the spirit. (Virtual peer pressure.) My own mother’s motto, which she inherited from her dad, was: It’s just another day. Birthdays. anniversaries. Even Christmas. All “just another days.”
The idea, of course, is that Mother’s Day should be every day. My daughter asked me during dinner, “Why isn’t there a Daughter’s Day?” Because every day is Daughter’s Day too. And Son’s Day and Valentine’s Day. We should be appreciating each other all the time and showing our appreciation all the time too.
I remember my mother-in-law telling me that she had a adorable shirt she wanted to give my daughter one year, and she was afraid that she’d grow out of it by Christmas.
“Why don’t you give it to her now?” I asked. (It was April.)
“Oh, I can’t do that!” she huffed. “That just wouldn’t be… right.”
That seems so silly. Give her the damn shirt and call it a day. Just another day.