The Mother of All Posts

Sometimes I wish I was back in school. As each year of adulthood rapidly fades into the next, the desire for a return to those simpler days grows ever stronger. Such thoughts could be born out of a grown man's lament over his misspent youth, or out of a desire to get one's hands on some of those little yellow lunch money envelopes they used to hand out, which make for a perfect miniature puppet theater troupe when hoarded. I have a different reason for wanting to turn back time, although I do love making flappy-mouthed finger puppets. No, what I long for is the carefree days of school-supplied Mother's Day gifts.

Back then, if there was even a hint of disappointment in Mom's eyes, you knew it wasn't because of you. How could it be? You just handed her a bouquet of construction paper flowers. It must have been something Dad did.

Brianna presented Michele with a tiny potted Morning Glory yesterday morning. But by the time she gave it to her, it looked more like a limp stem draped over a box of soggy dirt. Brianna was obviously crushed about it, and included a note explaining that it's real, but she gave it too much water and it broke a little, so she drew a picture of one at school and made a card, too. Next to that, in big red letters, she wrote "I'm realy sorry." As promised, there was a picture of a purple flower, surrounded by butterflies and the words "Morning Glory." And there was also the card. The front said "Happy Mother's Day Mom" and inside was a story she wrote this story:

Once upon a time there was a girl. She had a brother and a dad but no mother. They kept looking for a mother befoure Mother's Day. One day all three of them were watching the news. The news said everyone on earth had a mom except them but one mother was untaken but she was too far away. The girl said, "Come on Dad let's get ourself a mother." Dad said All right. So they went on and on. Okay we are here. The lady said, "are you my family?" Yes. Happy...

(the rest was on the back of the card)

Mother Day!"

My mom still has the mug I made for her when I was in fourth grade. I remember really wanting it to convey that I thought she deserved so much more than my humble plastic cup, so I covered it with drawings depicting the treasures I would bestow on her, if only I had the means to do so. And so, in a sweeping panoramic image around the mug, I drew a red station wagon, complete with roof rack and tag reading "To: Mom"; a dog, also with a "To: Mom" tag, a bouquet of roses; a bunch of balloons; a banner reading "Happy Mother's Day! May 14, 1989"; and, standing in the center, a mother and her son. The son, curiously wearing a propeller cap and overalls, proclaims, "You're the greatest!" The mother has a large purple gift box at her feet, and stands knock-kneed while trying to balance another large box in one hand and a bottle in the other. I knew that champagne was used for celebrations, but I didn't know how to spell it. So instead the bottle said "Wisky." Yes, I spelled that wrong, too, but the bigger issue is that the woman is now holding a bottle of hard liquor. But I didn't know. I didn't think there was any difference. Alcohol is alcohol, right? When she asked why she was clutching a bottle of whiskey, I remember almost feeling disappointed that I'd let my mother down, and I was quick to point out that the people on the mug weren't necessarily us, just a mother and her son. That would explain why she's a dink-toed lush and he's got a propeller cap and front teeth the size of Buicks.



I'm a full-fledged grownup now. That means I'm on my own for Mother's Day gifts. No more arts and crafts freebies. As much as it pains me to admit it, ever since I've been old enough to be yelled at for not shaving every day, Mother's Day has been lackluster at best. Sure, we've got our annual Chili's lunch, but that's about it. Thankfully, Michele planned a brunch this year and made reservations a month in advance. But not at Chili's. This year, we went to The Cheesecake Factory.

Even simple things like going out to eat involve some planning. My Dad and Ryan usually work Sunday mornings, so we had to make sure they could take the day off. Then we had to collect money from everybody. And finally there's the matter of finding the place. A few minutes before we left, I got onto Mapquest to find the right exit for the Prudential Center. I couldn't find a piece of paper (or a pen) so I grabbed one of Brianna's felt markers, whose tip had been blunted and frayed from heavy use, and scribbled some directions on the face of a paper plate. Our reservations were for 10 AM. At 9:15, we loaded up the minivan and set off for Boston.

Normally, it's about a twenty minute ride, but unrelenting sheets of rain kept traffic moving at a snail's pace and rendered street signs nearly unreadable. After a minor detour that brought us into Dorchester, we were back on the highway and headed back on course. Finding the Prudential was easy enough; it's one of the two skyscrapers that tower over the city's otherwise modest skyline. But finding the restaurant from the parking garage was a little trickier.

I left my jacket in the car, but everyone else kept theirs on. Suckers. We were going to be inside the whole time anyway. We then spent a few minutes wandering around the cold, leaky parking complex. Glenn found the door to Lord & Taylor, but with it being quarter to ten on a Sunday morning, the store hadn't opened yet and the doors were locked. But not too much further away, I spotted the entrance to Shaw's supermarket. They were open, so we went in through Shaw's and made a b-line for the elevator at the back of the store. Outside the window, we could see the rest of the mall, but no way of getting to it without going out into the rain and crossing the street. I knew all these buildings were interconnected, so there had to be a way to get there without getting wet. There was a small staircase with maybe a dozen steps next to the elevator, so I went down there and looked out the glass doors. I saw an enclosed walkway above us that lead straight into the mall. It was a walkway I've used many times before, one that connects the shops and businesses of Copley Place across the street to the shops and businesses of the Prudential Center. Everyone else was over by the elevator, so I got in with them and looked for the proper button. Hmm..."Street Level" looked promising. The pulleys and gears started whirring and clanking, and three seconds later, the doors opened up, and we walked out to find ourselves at the base of the tiny staircase. We'd just moved about three feet. It was already after ten now, so we just opened the doors and walked across the street. And me without my jacket.

When we got inside, I found a directory map and immediately found the Cheesecake Factory. What I couldn't find, was that pesky little "You Are Here" mark. It does no good to find the restaurant if you don't know where your starting point is. I found it eventually and once I got my footing, knew exactly how to get there. But I guess the rest of the family felt better asking a complete stranger for directions, since that's what they did next. The stranger's words rang true, and incidentally placed the restaurant just where I said it would be, and the rest of the day went on without a hitch. Except for Glenn ordering an apple strudel cheesecake for dessert and eating half of my heath bar crunch cheesecake before realizing that he had the wrong plate. How could he not notice there were no apples?

Oh, and, um...we got lost in the parking garage again on our way out. The less said about that, the better.

Anyway, to all the mothers out there, I hope you had a wonderful day yesterday, and I hope today is okay, too. And to my own mom, thanks for letting us sleep in the basement, and more importantly, (considering it's been raining for a solid week) for getting that waterproofing system installed.