Preventing Grace
Mother’s Day being always on Sunday means that I really have to plan ahead to make the most of my ‘special day.’
One
I’m going to use the word ‘gift’ relentlessly as a verb all weekend. I’m going to do it so much that everyone will realize how obnoxious it is and stop doing it so that we can all go back to the simpler, more elegant and worthy ‘give.’
Two
I’m going to clean my house. I like a clean house but I also don’t want to call in all my powers of guilt to get my children to do it for me—at least not at first. So I’m going to martyr myself cleaning it alone, collapse back in a chair exhausted from all my servile labors, and then say, “No no, don’t worry, go play!” I will then spend at least three days pointing out how clean the whole house is.
Three
I’m going to read this aloud to Matt and we’re going to laugh our heads off.
Four
I will enjoy the following annual conversation:
Matt: ‘How on earth am I supposed to know what you want?’
Me: ‘I want flowers.’
Matt: ‘Women are so hard to figure out. I never know what to get you.’
Me, clearly, with my actual audible voice, almost like God shouting at Moses on the mountain: ‘I Want Flowers.’
Matt, sadly shaking his head: ‘I just don’t know what you want ever.’
Me, looking for my keys so I can go out and gift myself flowers: ‘I want flowers.’
Five
I’m going to lie awake most of one night at least counting up all my failures and panicking about how much I have ruined the lives of my nearest and dearest.
Six
I’m going to eat a chocolate and miss my own mother. Then I will feel guilty for not calling her more often.
Seven
I’m going to spend a few minutes—three at least—being grateful that I got to have children and that they haven’t disappointed me…YET. I will wipe away a small tear and yell at them to stop messing up my clean house.
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