Mothers Be Good To Your Daughters Too
A happy belated Mother's Day to all of you mothers out there! I am not a mother, despite what my students may think. They simply cannot comprehend that I'm over the age of 16 and childless, but I digress.
I spent Mother's Day with my mom and her mom, also known as my grandmother. Oh yeah, dad was there too, along with a few "extras" also known as extended relatives. Holiday etiqutte is always a bit awkward. Children get gifts for their mothers, but how do you ignore grandmothers even though they do have a day all of their own? So in other words, it was cards all around.
Which leads me to the burdensome task of gift getting. You should know that I am good at admitting my shortcomings, creative gift giving being one of them. I always strive to be better at this each year, but it's the little matter of what to get people that always eats away at me every Christmas and birthday. Holidays like Mother's Day are no exception.
For years, my parents did not want to accept gifts from me. "You're too young!" they'd say. "Save your money!" they'd add. But now that I'm on the verge of turning 28, the old, "the gift IS me" excuse doesn't cut it anymore.
But what do you get the people who have everything? My mom doesn't even have any hobbies, besides shopping which makes this job even harder. Another blouse? More perfume? A generic but safe gift certificate perhaps? I've done them all, and thensome.
Unfortunately this year was more of the same. The holiday snuck up on me once again and once again my mother picked out something for herself that is probably ten times better than what I would have hypothetically picked out. The side effect of this being my mother knows exactly what she is getting.
After some careful observation, I believe my mother sort've inherited the gift getting gene from her mother. My grandmother simply cannot accept a gift without complaining about it one way or another. This is not to say that she's not appreciative, she just has an extremely hard time saying thank you and leaving it at that. "Let me give you some money," she often says. "This is too much!" she whines. In fact, the end of any holiday I can remember has culminated in my grandmother chasing my mother around trying desperately to give her money towards her own gift.
Going out to celebrate the event is another challenge. My grandmother lives in a city which is not the best, but is ideal for an 88 year old woman like herself who never drove a day in her life. But for most of us who do drive, it's a real pain in the ass. My father usually circles the block a few times, cursing his way through a five block away parallel parking nightmare.
Although cities like these are a bitch to visit, they often have shoebox-sized restaurants that put the likes of Outback and Olive Garden to shame. We had a 1 o'clock seating for dinner. 1 o'clock might seem early to you if you're not Italian. If you are Italian, you know 1 o'clock is the norm for a Sunday dinner anyhow. In fact, as a general rule of thumb, eating with Italians is a lot like visitng the zoo. They both have feeding times every hour, on the hour, like clockwork.
While all of my family holiday experiences are amusing, albeit somewhat predictable, there's always been an inexplicable sadness that washes over me when we're all sitting at the dinner table. It's really a horrible, horrible feeling. This has happened to me for as far back as I can remember. Luckily the feeling leaves almost as quickly as it came. Still in that moment, I always search in vain to find its source.
Regardless, it's days like these that make my mom, her mom and I suppose mom's everywhere a little happier. Really, that's all that matters.
And I'm in the clear, gift giving wise. Well, till the end of May anyway. That is when my dad's birthday rears its ugly head.
I spent Mother's Day with my mom and her mom, also known as my grandmother. Oh yeah, dad was there too, along with a few "extras" also known as extended relatives. Holiday etiqutte is always a bit awkward. Children get gifts for their mothers, but how do you ignore grandmothers even though they do have a day all of their own? So in other words, it was cards all around.
Which leads me to the burdensome task of gift getting. You should know that I am good at admitting my shortcomings, creative gift giving being one of them. I always strive to be better at this each year, but it's the little matter of what to get people that always eats away at me every Christmas and birthday. Holidays like Mother's Day are no exception.
For years, my parents did not want to accept gifts from me. "You're too young!" they'd say. "Save your money!" they'd add. But now that I'm on the verge of turning 28, the old, "the gift IS me" excuse doesn't cut it anymore.
But what do you get the people who have everything? My mom doesn't even have any hobbies, besides shopping which makes this job even harder. Another blouse? More perfume? A generic but safe gift certificate perhaps? I've done them all, and thensome.
Unfortunately this year was more of the same. The holiday snuck up on me once again and once again my mother picked out something for herself that is probably ten times better than what I would have hypothetically picked out. The side effect of this being my mother knows exactly what she is getting.
After some careful observation, I believe my mother sort've inherited the gift getting gene from her mother. My grandmother simply cannot accept a gift without complaining about it one way or another. This is not to say that she's not appreciative, she just has an extremely hard time saying thank you and leaving it at that. "Let me give you some money," she often says. "This is too much!" she whines. In fact, the end of any holiday I can remember has culminated in my grandmother chasing my mother around trying desperately to give her money towards her own gift.
Going out to celebrate the event is another challenge. My grandmother lives in a city which is not the best, but is ideal for an 88 year old woman like herself who never drove a day in her life. But for most of us who do drive, it's a real pain in the ass. My father usually circles the block a few times, cursing his way through a five block away parallel parking nightmare.
Although cities like these are a bitch to visit, they often have shoebox-sized restaurants that put the likes of Outback and Olive Garden to shame. We had a 1 o'clock seating for dinner. 1 o'clock might seem early to you if you're not Italian. If you are Italian, you know 1 o'clock is the norm for a Sunday dinner anyhow. In fact, as a general rule of thumb, eating with Italians is a lot like visitng the zoo. They both have feeding times every hour, on the hour, like clockwork.
While all of my family holiday experiences are amusing, albeit somewhat predictable, there's always been an inexplicable sadness that washes over me when we're all sitting at the dinner table. It's really a horrible, horrible feeling. This has happened to me for as far back as I can remember. Luckily the feeling leaves almost as quickly as it came. Still in that moment, I always search in vain to find its source.
Regardless, it's days like these that make my mom, her mom and I suppose mom's everywhere a little happier. Really, that's all that matters.
And I'm in the clear, gift giving wise. Well, till the end of May anyway. That is when my dad's birthday rears its ugly head.
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