Good Morning.
Please do not give your mother a new steam iron or a set of
jumper cables this weekend. Mother's Day should not be a reminder of household or mundane tasks; it should send a message that mothers are fabulous, beautiful, wise, extraordinary creatures. You know this, of course.
Do not give your mother a membership at a fitness club or the apparel worn in such a venue. She does not need even a hint
that she is sagging and gelatinous. Flowers would be good here, an array of tea, or perhaps the latest book by her favorite
author. If you don't know who that is, you need to spend more time with your mother unless the author turns out novels
she doesn't want you to know about. In that case, get off the literary thing altogether. A coffee table book about the Etruscans is boring. A self-help book is also not a good choice. Mothers get to the point where all they want is a nap. A nice throw in a soft fabric is a better idea than a book telling her she will find her better self by jogging three days a week or at a retreat in a woodsy place with metal cots and no running water.
If your mother has a hobby, this would be a great starting place for a gift. Golf balls are always appreciated, or a visor for tennis. Gardening items are fine but don't be selecting plants for her. She knows whether she wants to try broccoli again this year and deal with the worms. She may have decided she's had enough of purple petunias in her pots and wants nothing but a sea of red geraniums; a mother is allowed to change her mind a lot because she is constantly honing her skills in flexibility, a basic requirement for taking care of everyone who crosses her path. Get her a gift certificate to her favorite garden center and let her fuss around as she will. She
may end up with marigolds.
Brunch is standard Mother's Day fare, but I have grown weary of crowds wandering among skirted tables with enough food to feed a small country. I can never decide whether I want an omelet or a slab of prime rib, a blueberry muffin or Tiramisu. It's less confusing to have me to your home at a time when I know whether I'm likely to get scrambled eggs and toast or lasagna and garlic bread. That, of course, presents another problem, because the person who will probably have to prepare the food may also be a mother. Better to pick up a bucket of fried chicken and sit around with plenty of napkins and stories.
Best regards,
Elisabeth
Comments