Mother's Days Past

When J and I were engaged he told me about his plans to make me a ring (I heard "every year" but upon reflection, I doubt he was that ambitious about jewelry, even then) out of elements readily available in the foreign land where we'd be living.

We were going to travel the world, and save it, one micro-credit loan at a time.

We had plans to go to Bangladesh 6 months after we were married and begin our adventure.

Then I got pregnant with Bo. This was a big surprise (anyone who says pregnancies can't be a surprise hasn't done 2 things: 1, been around when I've found out I am pregnant and 2: passed me in the hallway) for us and we were suddenly compelled to change our life plan.

Of course, going to Bangladesh 4 months pregnant and giving birth to our first child in dirt hut in Southeast Asia wasn't really going to happen.

Because when it comes to saving the world, we're more of uh, what you'd call "Excuse Makers".

I often think about those dreams to travel the world and get clay rings, when I'm weary from dropping subtle hints to J that a made-up holiday is about to happen and he needs to revere it with something sparkly or chocolate.

My first Mother's Day, married to J, I was 9 months pregnant.

J got me nothing. Because technically, I wasn't a mother yet. This is true, but I was furious.

The next year was a wash. It's just not in J's DNA to acknowledge holidays. He loves Labor Day. It's the best holiday of the year because, you don't have to give anybody anything, and your main requirement is generally to show up with something to grill.

The next year I had a newborn Avee and almost 2, Bo.

Nothing.

Then we moved to Texas. J had a real job and he wasn't a stressed out, underpaid student. And to be honest, I was pretty much the most awesome mom ever, so I was really looking forward to Payday.

Nothing. In fact, he even booked his flight out of town about 4 hours earlier than necessary and never once acknowledged it was Mother's Day.

Whatever people say hell hath no fury like---that phrase was defined by me---Monday morning, the day after Mother's Day 2006.

I consider myself a pretty easy-going girl. And most days, J will agree. But this was a massive error on J's part.

His reasoning was, he had forgotten. Fair enough. Traveling was very stressful on all of us, and probably him the most. And because he had forgotten, he was sure anything he said or did would come across as fake, forced, rushed, insincere, Walmerts check-out line impulse buy-ish. Basically he was sure I'd call his bluff (as if I would ever!). So his response? Say nothing at all.

At this risk of smudging my good name, I will say this: I sent him an email that got bounced back to me with this message, "We have detected this email contains harassing and abusive language and will not be sent to recipient." True story.

In the moment, it infuriated me. Now? Probably one of the more funny moments of my married life.

We worked through some issues and I felt like J finally understood that I needed some acknowledgment for all my hard work. There are no pay raises, no quarterly reviews, minimal feedback---I felt like it was his job to take advantage of Mother's Day to show appreciation. AND I wanted him teaching our children to show appreciation.

The next year---we were still in Texas, I was muy pregnant with Danyo and I was confident we had arrived at a place where I could keep my expectations reasonable, and J could understand my need for acknowledgment.

Total and complete repeat of the previous year. He forgot, and again assumed the best approach was to ignore.

I still have to see a chiropractor because of that day. My head spun off of my neck.

I had unwittingly become the definition of mentally ill. I kept beating my head against a brick will, expecting a different result. I really truly thought I'd get a different result. If you know J, you know that this expectation wasn't unreasonable. He's a good guy, he cares about me, I was sure I'd get a response.

So, after about 4 days of calling his hotel room and threatening dismemberment, and calling at 3 am and hanging up when he answered, and mailing him a box of toenails and slugs---I had worked through some of my anger and we communicated. J said some things I was sure indicated he understood me, and that this would not happen again.

Last year: He took the kids to get cards and wrote what they dictated. He got me something I wanted/needed. He "acknowledged" me. And he taught the kids to do the same. It was wonderful.

This year: I didn't say anything. I try so hard not to put him to the test, but I am a woman, and I simply can't help myself.

He and the kids brought me breakfast in bed. Avee ate all my bacon and Danyo face planted in the strawberry syrup trying to wrestle Avee for the last piece of bacon. There were fresh flowers in a Bubba Gump beer glass that lit up.

It made my heart smile.

But. I also got myself a little ring "for J to give me".

I thought that ring would fulfill me. I thought people would look at it and say, "Oh, your husband loves you." Or, "Oh, you must really be a good mother."

I was going to wear it proudly, knowing I had been treated well on Mother's Day.

I took it off because it hurt when I lifted weights.

Then I went to go put it on afterwards and remembered how much I really don't care to wear jewelry.

And no one had really even noticed it anyway.

And it just didn't fulfill me like I had anticipated.

So, every day I see this ring, sitting on the shelf in the bathroom. It would be so easy to put on my finger. And maybe someone will see it and all my dreams will come true when they realize how much my husband loves me and how amazing of a mother I am...

I can't put it on.

It reminds me of the worst in me. The shallow part that thinks the world needs to see something to prove what an amazing person my husband is. It reminds me that when I said I would marry J and when I was so happy to say yes to that question, that intrinsic joy of marrying someone so wonderful, wouldn't always be enough for my greedy self. It reminds me I have lost sight of what matters the most.

A man who loves me in all my different "shades". A man who tells me he loves me everyday. A man who constantly picks up where I leave off, and doesn't think twice about it. A man who supports me, encourages me, trusts me, laughs with me, and gives everything for me and his children. He does this stuff every.single.day.

Who he is, is acknowledgment enough for me. How he is, is example enough for our children.

If they made cards that said, "Honey, I love you so much, that even when I'm in the bathroom and I hear the kids disobeying you, I will call out, 'I'm almost done in here, and when I am, I better see three little kids listening to their mom!'"

I'm sure I'd have a dozen.

Because that's the kind of man he is.

I'm keeping the ring. Probably right there on the shelf. As a reminder of what exactly it is I want. I want exactly what I get, every single day.

And on Mother's Day---I want to be reminded of what I get, every single day.