LOGO : Site title

O ne of my most fondly remembered Mother’s Days occurred long before I became a mother. The year Larry and I got married, our wedding day fell on the day before Mother’s Day. I’m sure neither of us realized the proximity until our own special day loomed on the horizon. At that time in our lives, parenthood seemed like a quaint idea that maybe we’d pursue when we got other stuff out of our systems. But when we started to focus on the more logistical issues related to our wedding, we realized there was an opportunity that we should act on.

Our wedding was held a three-hour drive from where we and most of our guests live. Larry’s parents were living in Holland, so they and many other guests were flying in from there and various other parts of the world. With our dearly beloved in a special place at the same time, we decided to schedule the morning after our wedding as a Mother’s Day brunch. We also knew that all we would have to do was delegate a few people to gather some pastries, juice and coffee and assemble them on a table and open the front door of the house we’d rented. We suggested a general time since we knew some people would be nursing hangovers and we, as a newly married couple, would be excused from punctuality. So we could take credit for a great idea with relatively little effort.

The wedding day itself was a blur of scheduled rituals as well as last-minute scrambling (including a few having to locate or buy shoes), but Mother’s Day was a casual, low-key event, a kind of open house where the guests arrive already feeling like they’ve already had too much to drink. Most importantly, of course, our mothers could greet family and friends with the achievement of another of their offspring married checked off their to-do lists, and everyone, including grandchildren, was present. Looking back, we also now see that that weekend would be the only time for numerous family members to actually meet in person and since then, several, including Larry’s father, have passed away. This way we shall not come again.

I’m looking forward to many Mother’s Days as a mother and, thinking of those who have forever departed, I intend to cherish each one. Since Oliver hasn’t yet turned three years old, I know I can’t expect extravagance or creativity just yet. This past Sunday, we met up with some friends who are about to leave Canada, and since they have a child close to Oliver’s age, watching the kids play along with other families at Eglinton Park was a sweet and casual way to experience this Mother’s Day. Coached by the staff at his daycare to say “Happy Mother’s Day,” I encouraged Oliver to recite it at every opportunity, including phone calls to his grandmothers. “After all,” I told him, within Larry’s hearing, “next year, I’ll be looking for breakfast in bed and a spa day.” Of course I’m joking!

(art by Oliver Koch; photo by Mimi Choi)

Also at daycare, Oliver crafted, with much assistance, a flower arrangement made of tissue paper that now rests on our piano. It’s meant to stand in a styrofoam cup coated with glitter, but because it’s practically weightless, it’s tipped over and scattered a bit more glitter every time someone walks by a little too quickly. I keep meaning to weigh down the styrofoam cup with something (marbles? old AA batteries?) because I know I want to keep it forever.

Last year, Oliver’s first at daycare, I was presented with a key chain in the shape of a teddy bear with “Happy Mother’s Day” written black magic marker. When we first saw it, Larry and I launched and embellished a fantasy scenario where we imagined Oliver donning a pair of safety glasses and wielding a blowtorch to fashion a piece of wood into the shape of a teddy bear and then popping the cap off a Sharpie to write with perfect penmanship. We used to hang it by the front door with all the other keys, but a few weeks ago Larry asked if I’d seen it and I felt a gulp of panic rise in my throat. No doubt it’s fallen behind something and when I have a spare moment I’ll get down on my hands and knees and fish it out of the ever-present clutter. I know it has to be there.