Today was…Mother’s Day…apparently. I actually forgot about it, until the girls brought me breakfast in bed: a glass of water, a banana and apple sauce. Middle girl made the card. I choked down the apple sauce and water: I can’t eat first thing in the morning, let alone minutes after waking up. My youngest was happy to eat my banana for me.
Today was a reminder that although things do not get discussed, children absorb what they see in the world around them. My girls do not attend school, but advertising for this commercial holiday is everywhere. Probably why I don’t care much for it. Everything gets turned into a way to guilt you out of your money. Take the wildfire in Ft. McMurray for example. I have mad respect for businesses that simply go ahead and donate to relief: not so much for the ones who see it as a way to market their gimmicky scheme to buy their product.
I did spend a good part of my day doing this: picking alpaca fleece – a hand-me-down of such. I still cannot believe I got bags and bags of this stuff for free (I will write more about it on my other blog). I did have a moment to reflect on my own mother, who has been deceased now for 8.5 years. I often wonder, in this world where we are outraged and offended by everything, why I must endure Mother’s day? For example, I can’t relate my own birth experience, or breastfeeding journey – lest I make another mother feel guilty – but fire away with all your personal mom-is-so-great stories all day every day and particularly this day. Your mom is awesome. And not dead. Good for you. All I can think of, is not every Mom is worth honoring: dead or alive. And I am not commenting on my mother specifically here. Just the fact that some people, have survived their mothers. That is the sad and honest truth.
One of my fears of sharing is that people will read too much into my thought process. I am not bitter nor am I an angry motherless person. I do have a complex and analytical mind that I think most people who know me know that about me, by now. If you don’t, welcome to the inner recesses of my mind. The way this brain operates is how I can create shit. 24/7. I choose embrace the feelings and put forth something tangible. Or I’ll let it consume me. The latter is not an option. Not these days anyway.
Life on the North Mountain – in a word: quiet. Since our family has settled back in Nova Scotia, I have been waiting for a day like this. To enjoy the sunshine and North Mountain view in flipflops and a tank top…
…only this is Nova Scotia – and by the time you are just getting giddy from to the sunshine hitting your face, because you are barefoot outside for the first time this year and that you’ve decided you’ll barbeque for supper instead of dirty the kitchen (more): it’s time for jackets and socks, yet again.
It’s good to be home.