Make Mom Happy

What is the best way to celebrate a truly Happy Mother's Day? The trick is knowing Mom well enough to see what is the most meaningful way to say thank you to HER.

A butterfly visiting my petunias one Mother's Day.

      I'm a Mom who has a Mom and Mom-in-law. Whenever Mother's Day approaches, I experience stress, not relaxation. Why? Because every year I worry about whether both Moms will be disappointed once again, because they will not receive the visit they wish they were having from my family. No matter what my family has planned for me on Mother's Day, I find myself feeling guilty that I didn't plan something that included our Moms.

     "They're grandmothers. You're the mother now," my husband says sympathetically.

     "But they don't stop being mothers to us," I hear myself say.

     Both Moms appreciate being recognized on or around Mother's Day, which has been impossible for us to do in person for many years now, since we moved 2.5 hours away. It was easier before we had children, when we lived less than a half hour away from both of them. We popped in for brunch with one and did an early dinner with the other one later in the day. Both Moms were happy to get a visit from daughter/son-in-law and daughter-in-law/son. But ever since I became a Mom, I realized that I want to be available for my kids to celebrate within our own little family unit. I secretly hope I can be completely useless to them during the entire day, free of chores and anxiety of any kind.

An azalea flower in my garden.

      One year, I just wanted the entire day to plant petunias, impatiens and marigolds in containers on my deck. I remember enjoying a visit from a slinky red fox who wandered into my backyard that afternoon. Another year, we enjoyed a walk and picnic as a family at the Connecticut College Arboretum. We picked up sandwiches and drinks from Subway and brought along our cameras. I still admire the photographs we took of the various trees, flowering bushes and water lilies on the pond that day. My favorite photos are the off-center pictures the children took of me with the blue sky in the background, shot from their vantage point below. Another time we decided to see the new flick Iron Man followed by a sushi dinner, my favorite. It didn't matter what we did. All I cared about was that I was with my family and that I didn't have to cook, clean, drive or nag anyone to do anything.

      So where does that leave Moms of adult children? Someday that will be me, when my children have become responsible for themselves and their husbands and their own children. Hey, wait a minute. That's the key. They will be responsible for themselves, their husbands and their own children! That means as a grandparent someday I will not have the same need to receive a physical break from incessant family rearing, shuttling and household chores. I would still want the acknowledgement though. I would want to know that they care about me and recognize all of my efforts through the years, to help them become the best that they could be. I would want to know that they still needed me in their life in some way, whether it be for advice or just someone willing to listen.

My lilac bush in full bloom.

      So make your Mom happy on Mother's Day. Show her that you thought of her and appreciate having her in your life even if you live far away. You don't need to pack the kids' suitcases and drive 200 miles just to have brunch with her for the day. Maybe it is a beautiful arrangement of flowers because she never buys fresh flowers. Maybe it's a video chat so she can see how big the children have grown. Maybe it's a comfortable new fleece throw emblazoned with her favorite family photo. Maybe it's a membership to fruit of the month club because she's trying to cut back on chocolate and sweets. Maybe it's a book of Cross Sound ferry tickets so she'll be encouraged to visit you and her grandchildren often. Maybe it's a home-made card signed by every member of the family, even the dog.

      If you live close enough to set aside a part of the day for a personal visit, you will surely surpass all of her expectations. Take her to brunch, lunch or dinner. Take her to the movies, to a show or to a ballgame. Take her to the salon, to the park or to the museum. Have her over for a slice of pie and a cup of tea and pick her brain about her past. She would love to tell you stories. If you are inclined to include her in your family's plans, by all means invite her to tag along!

      In my town, the local Patch.com site is accepting favorite photo submissions of "Mom and Me." The simplest and most legendary gesture we can make to our Moms is to tell the world why we think she is the best Mom!  To all my readers who are Moms...may you have a truly Happy Mother's Day!

Little Hands Make Fun Work

Do you remember how old you were when you first physically felt the effects of real work?  I couldn't wait to get my working papers when I turned fourteen.  I woke up that morning, excited to open my presents from Mom and Dad.  I blew my candles.  Later that day, I was on a train to Brooklyn to fill out an application from the Department of Labor.  I was finally old enough to earn my own income.  Even if I knew that part time hours at minimum wage would only amount to enough money for the movies, I felt enormous pride that day.

I was following in the footsteps of my older brother, who had at that point already worked as a restaurant busboy, pizza delivery boy and McDonald's cashier.  Money was tight for our immigrant family, so it was important for us to develop our own streams of pocket money.

I also remember talking at length with my father about the value of having strong typewriting skills.  This is how he paved a career for himself in government accounting in the Philippines.  He typed and entered data at tremendous speed, with pinpoint accuracy.  He inspired me to start learning how to type on my own at nine-years-old.  I set a newspaper article beside my typewriter and typed what I read, fumbling around the keyboard.  As a result, my semester in junior high school typing class went very smoothly.  I was quickly placed on many short-term clerical assignments during my college summers.  And that helped me to fill in my resume and gather recommendations.

My oldest is now twelve years old; my youngest is eight.  I worry about their generation not having the same kind of impetus and appreciation for work.  It is important to me that they understand where all their stuff comes from; that everything is paid for through hard work, whether the work is done through a complex corporate job or through the physical and emotional labor required in running a household and nurturing a family.

One day, I found myself asking my kids a rhetorical question.

"Everyone in this family has a job," I said.  "Do you know what your job is?"

"Going to school and doing my homework?" said my oldest.

"Putting away my toys?" said my youngest.

I was very happy to see that they were able to discern on their own that they had responsibilities as members of our household.  Over time, they understood the important role they played in the family each time they set or cleared a table or took the dog out for a little play in the yard.  But they could contribute more.

On New Year's Day, we made it a family mission to organize the garage.  It seems that every six months we need to purge family clutter as our busy lives sometimes prevent us from putting things where they belong.  Enough was enough.  We wanted to start the new year with clear minds and unblocked paths.  It worked wonders for all of us.  Every time we opened the garage door, it was so satisfying to see everything in its place.  What I found even more moving about this simple family activity was that we were together all day, evaluating whether or not we still needed something, whether it could be recycled or donated and more importantly, that their little hands made a difference.

Today my youngest accompanied me to work a pancake fundraiser at her school.  Weeks ago, when I read on a school flyer that they were still in need of volunteers, I thought this might be a good opportunity for me to teach her about volunteer work.  When I reminded her last night that we needed to be up early to report at 7:30 a.m., she responded with groans and moans.

"But remember, you committed to this.  Your school is counting on our help," I said.  "There's a lot to do to run a pancake fundraiser and if you don't go, they'll be short one person."

"But I didn't know it was going to be so early!" she whined.

She was dressed and on time, ready to work, but not thrilled about it.  In the car we had a chat.

"Do you know what the word volunteer means?" I said to her.

"Yeah, it means you work for free."

"You're right.  But it also means other things.  You are giving your time and energy."

"To help people!" She finished my sentenced, beginning to perk up.

"Yes, today's pancake fundraiser will raise money to pay for after-school programs and enrichment activities at your school."

"Like basketball, Spanish club and Spirit Days?"

"Yes.  Exactly!"

When we arrived at the school, she was pleasantly surprised to see one of her classmates and recognized other fellow students and their siblings who were also there to work.  These were children of parents who were regular volunteers at school functions.  It was a natural extension of what they do as involved families.  While I poured batter and flipped pancakes and chatted with other volunteer parents, I caught a glimpse of her having fun while she worked.  I heard her busily shuffling around the cafeteria and hallways with her young co-workers, wiping down tables as families finished their pancake breakfasts to prep for new families.  I watched her laugh and smile as she inspected the little red buckets of candies that served as treat bowls and table centerpieces, ready to refill them.  At the end, she helped put away decorations that were hanging on the wall and on the tables.

"Mom, when are we going home?" she finally said to me, dragging her feet and looking utterly exhausted.  Her smiles and energy had been depleted.  Her body now understood the true meaning of work.

"Welcome to volunteer work!" I said to her, embracing her as a matriculated member of our volunteer team.

This brought back some warmth to her face.  As other parents helping with clean-up also commended her on a job well done, her spark came back.  She, too, beamed with pride in the spirit of hard work.