Sunday, May 8, 2011.
Mother's Day. Dining For Health A Snore.
It's Mother's Day. Mary Ann greatly prefers homemade gifts to even very expensive store-bought ones. So I wrote her a poem last night. Here it is:
Mother! Your personal sine qua non
The girl, who for you, stops being her own
Person. Instead, she's the one now obsessed
With getting you fed and getting you dressed.
Not enough thanks ever comes 'long her way
Despite all your cares she lets fill her day
And keep her up nights, while dad is asleep.
Her ears tune in to your every peep
She hates and yet loves that cute little voice
Letting her know that you're suddenly moist.
And as you become the person she hopes
The drama begins, like one in the soaps
She can't let you go, to her you're too dear
As always before, she blinks back the tear
And does what a mother really must do.
She watches you grow away into you.
Maybe a kid can't know what a mother
Gives up to give such lift to another.
But I know and love you more every day
Especially on this Sunday in May!
God blessed you (and me) with your motherhood
Relax and enjoy! You did it real good!
She read it, and tears came to her eyes. We talked for awhile, and then I read the poem aloud. (She was halfway through her silent reading before she picked up on the fact that it was rhymed.) As soon as I finished, she left the bed and went into the kitchen. She quickly returned, beaming, holding a glass vase filled with an assortment of bright flowers. It had been delivered yesterday afternoon, apparently, and left on the deck.
"Baloo!" she said. (That's her nickname for Jude.) And then she laughed. "It figures that right after you read that nice poem, Jude would top you with something better." She hugged the flowers. Yes, yes. I've always been jealous of my son for a bunch of reasons. Proudly jealous, though.
Mary Ann dictates the menu on Mother's Day: grilled chicken and grilled vegetables. I can't fire up the grill myself, so I just sat back and watched. The chicken would be overcooked and not seasoned well enough, but the Marys pointed that out, not me. As for the grilled vegetables--eggplant, zucchini, squash, bell peppers--I do not understand the appeal they have for Mary Ann, other than that they work on her diet. Which for her is a large pleasure. For me, it's penance. But still I keep my mouth shut.
We ate happily. Then everyone went back to his or her projects. Mary Leigh is cleaning up her room for the first time since she moved upstairs eight or so years ago. I hear it's beautiful up there now, but I can't negotiate the stairs to take a look. Something must have come from her having to share a dorm room. And speaking of her growing up. . .
