I celebrated the American Mother's Day today, even though I live in England. Yes, I take advantage of having the British Mother's Day too, which is sometime in March. You see, I can't remember the date of that one because in my heart, it isn't the "real" one. That doesn't stop me, of course, from taking full advantage of tea and toast served in bed on a cold March morning, with lovely cards made at school.
While today's celebration was so low key as to be almost non-existent, I gave a lot of thought to my own mother and hers; my grandmother who died 15 years ago. I picked up the phone and left messages for my two favourite aunts as well, one of whom phoned me back for a chat. Three thousand miles and a 5-hour time difference, mean nothing these days, when communication by phone and email is instantaneous.
The five of us women, from both sides of my family, are connected by a thread that winds itself from London to New Jersey, New York and Florida and through time: my aunt's birth being my grandmother's first experience of motherhood, my birth being my mother's first experience of motherhood, and my daughter's birth being mine. For my Aunt Eleanore, who isn't related to me by blood, having been married to my father's uncle, the connection is one of love, brought to life by my parents, who gave me the opportunity to know her. These women, especially my Mom, are there for me when I need them, as I hope to be for them if they ever need me.
Do I sound old-fashioned and overly sentimental? Maybe I am. I don't really care. I wish I had understood more about this bond when I was younger, lazier, more easily irritated, less thoughtful and less. Maybe it takes half a lifetime to learn these lessons and the other half to teach them to your own children. I know that it being Mother's Day didn't figure large enough in my children's eyes to banish the usual arguments about cleaning up their room and eating their food at dinner. But it was in my mind when my son asked me to paint his face like a tiger, which I did with bronzing gel, black mascara and brown eyeliner. He was thrilled and his enthusiasm made all of us smile. It was in my mind when I refolded all of my daughter's clothes this morning without yelling, and when she helped me tidy my cluttered desk area this afternoon. Sometimes love is best seen in the smallest gestures, rather than anything grandiose.
Oh, and not forgotten this evening; the small gesture that came in the form of my Dad's phone call when he first woke up this morning, to wish me a Happy Mother's Day. It touched me in a very big way. Father's Day is just around the corner on Sunday, the 21st of June, on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean. Hopefully, his grandchildren and I will do justice to it.
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