A Mom's Lament

Today is Mother’s Day.

I awoke this morning to watch a pastor on television discuss how it’s unfair to judge people from what’s on the outside, and I immediately think of my husband’s sister, who has a terrible habit of doing just this. Although we used to be like true sisters, there was never a time when I left her presence that I wasn’t wondering what she would find about me on that day to knit-pick on. She, of course, is perfect. Perfect face, perfect teeth, perfect body. She lives in a perfectly decorated house in a perfectly expensive neighborhood. After my husband and I had a falling-out with her husband (who in my opinion is the farthest thing from perfect, except for maybe being a perfect sociopath), she outwardly decided to tell me whatever she was feeling at any given moment, no matter where we were. A comment was made by her husband and backed up by her that my house was disgusting, and we should clean it up. Now, I admit; I am not the world’s best housekeeper, but there is never a time when anyone is invited here that this house is not as perfect as it’s going to get. It may not be big, but it is charming and cute, and more importantly—it’s happy. When people come over, they never leave. I’d rather visit a comfortable small house and feel welcomed than walk into a museum and not be allowed to sit in the living room. But I digress.

After watching the pastor, I went to church with my kids. This is a new church that they attend with their dad and his wife, and after visiting it on Easter, I found that I enjoyed the general atmosphere and message, and decided to start going on a more regular basis. My ex and his wife were there, as expected. We all kissed hello, and my kids and I sat next to them three rows back from the pulpit. The pastor spoke of prayer and of faith, and toward the end of the service, we were directed to either sit in our seats or go to one of the four stations that they had set up for specific prayer, something they don’t usually do. I walked with my kids over to the “relationship” station, and listened to one of the women of the church as she led a prayer. “Dear Lord, help us to give this problem to You once and for all. Let us understand that we no longer have to carry the burden of it on our shoulders; that You are there to carry it for us and see us through. And dear Lord, if we need to forgive someone, please help us to do so.” I immediately thought of the relationship with my sister-in-law, and prayed to God once more to take this encumbrance from me and to give me the strength and grace to behave like a Christian when I saw her later today for Mother’s Day.

To make a long story short, we all had a pleasant brunch at a local restaurant. My sister-in-law and I sat across from each other, sipping casually on mimosas and making innocuous chatter throughout our meal. As we were all leaving, we stood in a small group by the bar and chatted about upcoming dates and events. My sister-in-law got a look of horror on her face, and said, “We never had a cake for Al today! That’s not right; we were told that we’d have a cake for his birthday on Mother’s Day!”

Okay, I admit it. My house was a mess on May 2nd, my husband Al’s birthday. There is no way on God's green earth that I would've had someone who once told me my house was "disgusting" over in the state that it was in, not to mention the fact that we all had work and school the next day. We decided to keep our celebration to just us and the kids that night, at my husband’s request. After not being able to come up with an alternative date to have a cake for the rest of his family (who were very insulted that they weren’t invited to our little ceremony), we had settled on just bringing one to the restaurant on Mother’s Day. But alas, that was almost two weeks ago, and I suffer from a terrible brain cloud.

Yes, it was my fault. I forgot the cake. I forgot we were even supposed to have a cake. In my mind, we had already had a cake, and his birthday was over and done with. But in my husband’s family, this is some sort of mortal sin. You just don’t forget the cake. Period.

My sister-in-law turned to her mother to continue her rant. “The person who said that they would have a cake for him on Mother’s Day should’ve made sure that they brought a cake for us to sing to him with!” She then turned and glared at me with pursed lips and chevron eyebrows. I stammered a reply, shrugging my shoulders and forcing a giggle as “…I can’t believe I forgot!” dribbled out of my mouth. She rolled her eyes, turned to her other brother and shook her head.

…I decided to leave before behaving like a good Christian was not an option.

Later in the evening, my stepdaughter came home from spending the day with her mom. I was in the kitchen when she came in; she made no effort to come in and say hello to me, so when I saw her sitting at her computer, I offered a greeting. Without turning around, she said, “Oh, hi! Happy Mother’s Day.”

That was it.

Our home is far from your average American household. From what I can tell, we are the only “Brady Bunch” family living in our town. I’m sure that my neighbors have gotten plenty of earfuls and eyefuls when our ex-spouses come to visit the children. Several times a week, my stepdaughter’s mom will come inside my home to spend some time with her. On occasion, she has actually plopped herself down in my stepdaughter’s bed and gone to sleep. More often than not, they just fight as most 14 year old girls will do with their mothers. The only difference is that I’m in the house listening to their argumentative banter, wishing that I was in Bermuda or Belize. Brooklyn will even do on most days.

Recently, when my stepdaughter and her mom came into the house after being in Florida together for five days, the girl stormed right into her room and the mom gave me instructions that she was to be punished until Friday. As I looked at this woman with her new tan, her long blonde hair and her slight body, I felt a twinge of envy. As she left the house to go do whatever in the world it was that she wanted to do with no obligations, I fell into a downright jealous rage. But for the sake of the child and in order to keep the peace, I swallowed my feelings and reminded myself that there were worse problems in the world than me not being able to go wherever I wanted to at the drop of a hat.

Suffice it to say that I am the one who takes care of the motherly duties every day with this child. I pick her up from school. I sign tests. I cook dinner. I fold her clothes. If she needs to be picked up from anywhere, I drop whatever it is that I’m doing and I go pick her up. Yet with all of this, she did not feel the need to get me a card.

I hate to admit it. But I’m hurt…and sad. Her 20 year-old brother called me and told me he loved me. I don't really do much of anything for him. But my stepdaughter didn't even give me a hug.

And so, once again--as I have done so many times--I will take a deep breath and try to reason away why people are the way they are. And with a little luck, I will come to a conclusion that is probably not true, but makes me feel better, anyway.