Some Thoughts About Mothers on Mother’s Day

Once again, i have retreated from my disdain of government proclaimed days of honoring stuff except for Christmas, the Fourth of July, Memorial Day, Veteran’s Day, and Thanksgiving.

But heck, it’s Mother’s Day. Gotta do it.

Today didn’t start well. The plan was perfect. The execution of the plan went down the toilet. i know the exact moment.

i called Sarah’s name softly. She was not awake. i did not hear her instruct me to wake her up if she was still sleeping last night.

No problem. i’ll get it ready myself. So i began to prepare breakfast in bed for the mother of this house. She sleeps later than me, so it should be easy. i got out a tray for her plate, silverware, and napkin. i even used the nice silverware. i got out her plethora of condiments for her “Bread et Cie” bread. i peeled and cut the fresh fruit, blueberries, kiwi, banana, and a sweet tangerine. i placed the bread in the toaster to toast in a timely fashion, i got out the egg, pot for cooking the egg between soft and hard boiled the way she likes it. i got out the very European (in my mind) cute egg glass holder and put it on her plate with the fruit. i pulled up a spice medley for soft boiled eggs to prepare. i made a pot of coffee for her. i got out the orange and mango juice she likes and a small pitcher of water so she could mix it to her standards. i put her morning pills on the side of the plate. i printed out a poem and a photo of the gift she would be getting because i can’t get any gift for her on time because she checks our expenditures, especially mine every half-hour or so every day. i was near putting it all in motion, but then i realized i had to take her the coffee.

So i got out the frother about the size of a small tin of Maxwell House from years gone by. Her coffee is Trader Joe’s variety. Then i got out the ground cinnamon; then i got out the chocolate bar and the grater; then i realized i would need another plate for her to grate the chocolate, which she usually does over the sink; then, i got out the creamer; then i got out the almond milk for the frother.

Then i decided i needed to get a twelve-foot van from U-Haul just to get the stuff from the kitchen to our bedroom.

That was the exact moment i knew it wasn’t going to happen.

i gave up just as she opened the kitchen door to the dining room and smiled at me.

She had a nice breakfast at the breakfast table. After she made her almost coffee.

We laughed about it as we usually do.

*     *     *

i will call my daughter Blythe later today. She is a wonderful mother. i will wish her and her mother, Kathie, who is also a wonderful mother, my best and my thanks for being such wonderful mothers

i almost pinned on one of Maureen’s white roses to my shirt to honor my mother, Estelle Jewell, who left me almost exactly six years ago at 97. i thought of my grandmothers, Mama Jewell and Granny Prichard, and smiled remembering how much love they had for their children and grandchildren. i thought of others: Aunt Evelyn Orr, Virginia Harding, Martha Duff, Carla Neggers, Kate Jewell, Abby Duff , Aunt Colleen Prichard, Pat Boggs, Aunt Louise Jewell, Aunt Alice Jewell, Aunt Barbara Jewell, Aunt Naomi Martin, Nannie Bettie Lynch, Patsy Boggs, Ann Minolti, Millie Crawford, Dani Boggs, Stefanie Johnson, Nikki Guardado, and others i have unintentionally omitted, and i was glad they were mothers for all of us.

The amount of love all of them and nearly all of the mothers in the world carry in their hearts for their offspring cannot be contained in this world.

But today, on Mother’s Day, i want to especially acknowledge my second mother. In fact, she was a mother to every child she met.

Bettye Kate Prichard Hall had four miscarriages  before Dr. Lowe told her she couldn’t have children because it would be too dangerous to try again. So she just adopted all children she met. Her love for children also had no bounds, could not be contained.

If that white rose wouldn’t have looked so ridiculous on my tee shirt, i would have pinned on two, one for Aunt Bettye Kate.

Aunt Bettye Kate on our front door stoop with Johnny Orr, my cousin, and the not so happy goofy kid, 1944.

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