You Know What I Hate About Mother's Day?

     I first felt it in May of 2008. I went in to the Hallmark store to purchase the annual cards for Mother's Day that I always had. Marty's always has to be just right. It cannot rhyme. As Hades says in Disney's "Hercules," "Oy. Verse." It cannot have too many preprinted words. The more typing on the card, the less likely it's going to express what I'm actually feeling. It cannot be cheesy, it cannot be cliche', it cannot rhyme (I already said that but I feel strongly about this)! It has to be just... right. The mother of my children deserves a well thought out and researched greeting card. I'm losing focus...
     But three years ago, I was offended. I was angered in the Hallmark store because I instinctively reached to pick out a card for my mom and I wasn't allowed. Since she had passed away the previous Fall, I was prohibited from ever buying her a Mother's Day card again. I hated that feeling. I hate that I'm not allowed to buy my mom a card this time of year. For 34 years, whether it was made in class or bought with my own money, that woman was getting a card from me. And she deserved every one of them. She absolutely should have had each of those crayon-scribbled "I love you's" and the hand -written "thank you for all you've done's."

  
      On Mom's last Mother's Day, we all gathered at my sisters house. When my family walked in the door, Ella, who was 2 at the time was a little overwhelmed by all the people watching our entrance. She hesitated  before going in, scanned the room, recognized her Nanny and proceeded to climb into her lap as naturally as breathing. I'm sure we had cards for Mom, but Ella acknowledging her Nanny in such a way without saying a word was probably the best gift my mom got that day. That's one of my favorite memories of my mom and my kids' Nanny.
     So, Mom, if I were allowed to write in a Mother's Day card to you this year, I would tell you I kept my promise when I told you before you left us that I would make sure my kids knew how much you loved them (screen going blurry for some reason right now). When I ask them, "Who do you love?" you are always on that list. They constantly say they miss you. Max even talks about "my Nanny" like he knew you even though he was so young when we had to say goodbye. And I miss you, too, Mom. There's so much I want to tell you. Wish heaven had a phone line. Happy Mother's Day.