Mother's Day

How does one celebrate a wife, a mother? Every year I insist I don't want flowers, diamonds, manicures, and the worst,  a $12 greeting card. But then every year, knowing this, the husband gets increasingly upset until he is mean to me on the special day.  Sad that he cannot dream to pay me back for all I do throughout the year. Frustrated that it isn't in him to create a loving sentiment that fits my criteria. Angry that the corporations make so much money on this day where we honor something that ought to be a natural part of life. It is a setup for disappointment, to be honest. For the person to whom it comes so naturally to be nurturing, loving, thoughtful and generous to rely on the more selfish natures to draw it up within themselves in some kind of grand gesture. Just saying "I love you" or "Thank you" or helping out with chores or a hug while doing dishes... all of these add up for me throughout the year. I do feel loved and appreciated, always. I don't need a special day except as an occasion to eat cake. My gift is the miracle itself of motherhood. Sharing my beautiful, intelligent, talented and amazing daughter with the world. And to my wonderful husband, I know you, I love you, and I am honored to spend every day with you. There is never a need to feel inadequate, because there is so much more to you than meets the eye. Just continue to call me home, that is all I will ever need. "Oh, what strange wonderful clocks women are. They nest in Time. They make the flesh that hold fast and binds eternity. They live inside the gift, know power, accept and need not mention it. Why speak of Time when you are Time, and shape the universal moments, as they pass, into warmth and action? How men envy and often hate these warm clocks, these wives, who know they will live forever. So what do we do? We men turn terribly mean, because we can't hold to the world, or ourselves, or anything..." (Something Wicked This Way Comes, Ray Bradbury. Beautiful book, BTW.)