But do I want to be honored for being a mother?
Yes I do!
And I am not ashamed to solicit letters from both my daughters (or from Steve either for that matter).
You would think that I would not get any satisfaction from receiving letters that I bugged them to write, but no--the very reason I ask for it, is because I want it.
Maybe it is because I don't have many other fulfilling roles in life right now or maybe it is because I pour my blood, sweat and tears into motherhood. Whatevs.
A funny thing happened to me yesterday.
After a day of squeezing love out of my family which was punctuated by a 13 mile drive just to get a huge Dairy Queen Banana Split for dinner, a game of tennis was suggested at a nearby park.
While Steve and the girls drove, I decided to work off my Banana Split by jogging from my house to the courts (less than 2 miles away).
However, on my way there, I got a little bit disoriented.
Not wanting to run more than necessary through the hilly park, I stopped a young man at CMU to ask for directions.
The moment our eyes met, I suddenly realized that I knew him. ('tis one of my gifts)
"Max," I said.
"Are you Max?"
Completely bewildered, he nodded.
He had no idea who I was.
The last time I saw Max was ten years ago when he was a 4th grader at the school I worked at.
When I told him my name, he still had no memory of me.
I worked at that elementary school's extended day program for 12 years.
He must have felt sheepish for not remembering me because he so sweetly tried to make an excuse:
"I must have been so out of it when I was young," he started to say....(he is from CMU, I doubt that).
I just laughed and asked if we could take a photo to send to my friend Suzanne, who was the Program director when I was there. He so cooperatively obliged:
I take great pride in having connected with most, if not all of the children that went through that program--so him not having any clue as to who I was could have been a blow to my ego.
But as I ran the rest of the way to the tennis courts, I pondered.
A 9 year old male brain has no desire nor inclination to organize and store relationships not necessary for survival. (And come to think of it, it is no different for a 50 year old male brain either).
I also realized that when I left my job in 2005, I did that so I could focus all my energy and attention on being a mother.
And last night, when K FINALLY deemed me Instagram-worthy of a Mother's Day post shortly before midnight,
I knew that I made the right choice.