Glorious Mother’s Day. An otherwise calm day broken by the clamoring of children trying to make breakfast in bed without any proven recipes and fathers/husbands trying to do chores to appease their wives for just one, simple day of relaxation (which usually ends up being cleaned up the next day by said women but… it’s the thought that counts, guys).
Unfortunately for my mother her birthday falls neatly around Mother’s Day every year, so our lazy family ends up combining both days into one happy little festival. None of us like spending money much (and if we did she would probably scold us for wasting so much dough) so usually a homemade meal or dessert is accompanied by a birthday present or two. This year I decided on buying the fine lady a bottle of perfume she asked for (with a cosmetic gift bag! Double the gifts!) and making dinner. My mother is a very specific woman, so when I asked her for her preference she said “Pasta. Oil based sauce. Seafood.”
Gotta love a woman who knows what she wants, right?
So here I go Googling away looking for pasta recipes and eventually I find a nice scallop-zucchini-tomato-basil-garlic-olive oil… thing. Grocery shopping? Check. Try not to ruin pasta? Double check. Whip out a bottle of wine I had gotten earlier from a friend? TRIPLE CHECK!
I know this may all sounds like a typical Mother’s Day ritual, and it is. Until you realize that after finishing her meal (which she liked, pat on the back for me!) my mother trots out to the backyard in the cool evening, finishes the (entire) bottle of wine, leans back in the patio chair and breathes, “Ah. So relaxing.” I feel a nice moment there where I realize that I have succeeded in making this a relatively good Mother’s Day/birthday.
After which she immediately stands up, pulls out a pair of jumbo garden shears out of nowhere, and starts attacking our plum tree with religious fervor.
Sure, we had planned on cutting down that tree for some time now. And it’s not like garden shears can do that much damage. Plus the weather is all nice and perfect for gardening, right? Standing outside and watching her go to work and destroying the tree with happy, wine-induced bubbly enthusiasm, I can’t help but think:
Yup. That’s my mom. Badass to the bone.
Happy Mother’s Day everyone.