Mother’s Day reminds me of food.
Lots and lots of food.
When I was growing up we would go to the Decathlon Athletic Club in Bloomington for their special Mother’s Day brunch.It was always my parents, my sister, my brother, and my dad’s parents, Grandma Bea and Grandpa Charlie.
There were nice dresses and clean shoes. There were roses and mimosa’s for the Mothers. There was a diet coke with lime, not lemon, for Dad. And there was more food than you could imagine.
Ice sculptures towered over the salad bar. The omelette station was littered with bowls of onions and olives, tomatoes and cheeses, bacon and mushrooms. There was a carving station with a ham, a turkey and a roast beef, each perfectly prepared (bleeding, as my Dad would say) and sliced thinner than paper. There was a dessert table, often three or four tiers high, full of bites of apple crisp and pumpkin pie, chocolate cake and creme brûlée.
But we didn’t go to that table until the end. Not until after we ate our fruit and our salad, a quarter of that waffle with blueberry syrup, a slice of bacon, and a scoop of melty-cheesy-potato goodness. There were still cards to open and gifts to unwrap. Lotions for Grandma, a necklace for Mom.
There was small talk to make. Telling about school. About sports. About friends. And then, when the plates were cleared and the glasses refilled, we ran back to that dessert table, our dress shoes flopping on our feet. Just one, they’d tell us. We’d sneak an extra. Say it was for Grandma. Knowing she never touched dessert.
We’d take our time, as the parents talked. Usually Mom. Grandma and Grandpa didn’t say much. And then we’d be full. Too full. The last bites of the desserts still on our plates. We’d pack up. Give hugs. Run down the grand stairs. Go home to sit, nap, digest.
This Mother’s Day I’m keeping the day for myself. Four years ago I wanted nothing to do with Mother’s Day. Three years ago I couldn’t believe I was a mother, but I was too tired to believe it. Two years ago I embraced it. Last year I enjoyed it. This year I’m spending the day the way I want to. I’m heading to the Farmer’s Market (with the family). And maybe breakfast out (if we can get in somewhere). Then I hope I can get some writing or running in and cuddling. because, it is Mother’s Day, isn’t it?
(Oh – and don’t worry, the other mothers in my life are taken care of, coming over Saturday for dinner.)
What are you doing for yourself this Mother’s Day?