Mother's Day
It's just after dawn. And its Mother's Day morning. And I'm struggling to sneak into my parent's house after a big night. A very big night. My mouth is gluey, my brain feels like its the consistency of fairy floss and everything hurts. I struggle into the shower and allow the night's revelrie now turned sour on my skin flow down the drain. I'm panicking in slow motion as I get dressed. My brain is so foggy that thoughts come as single words. Most of them offensive. Mother's Day. Expletive. No Gift. Expletive. Plan B? Expletive. Think. Expletive. Lunch. Enough? Unlikely. Expletive.
I've woken my mother up with my sneaking around and she is having breakfast. I try not to sway as I stretch my face into a smile and say, "Happy Mother's Day! I'm taking you out for lunch." My insides lurch. I'm not sure if it was from the barely stifled terror at being unprepared for Mother's Day or from the mixture of vodka, whiskey and wine waging war with vital organs.
Mother's Day has always been the sort of day I prepare for with all the strategic planning, gritted teeth and devotion of resources as a space shuttle launch. They say sleep deprivation was what led to the tragic destruction of the Challenger. In my state, Mother's Day was never even going to get off the ground.
One Mother's Day I was so determined to get it right. With the elaborate plan I had devised I believed that I couldn't possible fail to win her everlasting love and appreciation. After a massage, dinner and a movie I thought this is it, this is the moment where my mother will forevor stop bemoaning her decision to have children. The next day I asked my sister about what my mother had thought about it. My sister reluctantly told me that she had shrugged and said that it was "All right." All right? I blew most of my week's wage for an 'all right'? I mean, sure I could understand her forevor resenting the year I bought her tea towels for Christmas or the time I lost her engagement ring or the time I made mushroom soup for dinner without a recipe and without having any idea of what I was doing...and then making her eat it - but surely what I had done for her had catapulted me into something beyond 'all right' status?
Back on the pretend-you're-sober-as-if-yo u're-life-depends-on-it-ranch I continue with the charade of having planned lunch all along and feel encouraged by the oddly receptive mood she appears to be in. Then I realise that I've left my purse in my friend's car. Expletive. Expletive. Expletive. Mum offers to pay and I feel my skin bubble with dread. She would never let me live this down. Her unconcerned smile has to be fake. She would never be this forgiving. Not my mother. Furthermore, in my state I had to ask her to drive using the excuse of no purse to buy petrol with as an excuse. Could it get any worse I wondered? As we approached the restaurant I began to realise how short-sighted I was. I had no reservation and we were going to the most popular family restaurant in town. You really must have killed off those few remaining brain cells last night I thought grimly as we queued at the counter.
A guardian angel in the form of the floor manager miraculously found us a table and my sister offers to pay for lunch. Oh, I'm so hungry. I hadn't eaten for 24 hours and my blood sugar level was starting to go into the critical zone. My brother orders the special which includes a complimentary glass of wine. "I don't want the wine." he says. My mother refuses as she never drinks. My sister says she is going to have a beer. I turn pale and say that if I drink it I might have to go to hospital. Mum asks if I'm sick. I love her for so much for her naivety in that moment and quickly mutter something about a sore stomach.
Ironically, the Mother's Day lunch was a success. We all got along. Laughed even. And I didn't even throw up. It was nice. And most of all, I realised that Mum (at least that day) only really wanted to spend time with us. No matter what state we were in.
Now I can hopefully relax a little about her upcoming birthday.
Expletive.
I've woken my mother up with my sneaking around and she is having breakfast. I try not to sway as I stretch my face into a smile and say, "Happy Mother's Day! I'm taking you out for lunch." My insides lurch. I'm not sure if it was from the barely stifled terror at being unprepared for Mother's Day or from the mixture of vodka, whiskey and wine waging war with vital organs.
Mother's Day has always been the sort of day I prepare for with all the strategic planning, gritted teeth and devotion of resources as a space shuttle launch. They say sleep deprivation was what led to the tragic destruction of the Challenger. In my state, Mother's Day was never even going to get off the ground.
One Mother's Day I was so determined to get it right. With the elaborate plan I had devised I believed that I couldn't possible fail to win her everlasting love and appreciation. After a massage, dinner and a movie I thought this is it, this is the moment where my mother will forevor stop bemoaning her decision to have children. The next day I asked my sister about what my mother had thought about it. My sister reluctantly told me that she had shrugged and said that it was "All right." All right? I blew most of my week's wage for an 'all right'? I mean, sure I could understand her forevor resenting the year I bought her tea towels for Christmas or the time I lost her engagement ring or the time I made mushroom soup for dinner without a recipe and without having any idea of what I was doing...and then making her eat it - but surely what I had done for her had catapulted me into something beyond 'all right' status?
Back on the pretend-you're-sober-as-if-yo u're-life-depends-on-it-ranch I continue with the charade of having planned lunch all along and feel encouraged by the oddly receptive mood she appears to be in. Then I realise that I've left my purse in my friend's car. Expletive. Expletive. Expletive. Mum offers to pay and I feel my skin bubble with dread. She would never let me live this down. Her unconcerned smile has to be fake. She would never be this forgiving. Not my mother. Furthermore, in my state I had to ask her to drive using the excuse of no purse to buy petrol with as an excuse. Could it get any worse I wondered? As we approached the restaurant I began to realise how short-sighted I was. I had no reservation and we were going to the most popular family restaurant in town. You really must have killed off those few remaining brain cells last night I thought grimly as we queued at the counter.
A guardian angel in the form of the floor manager miraculously found us a table and my sister offers to pay for lunch. Oh, I'm so hungry. I hadn't eaten for 24 hours and my blood sugar level was starting to go into the critical zone. My brother orders the special which includes a complimentary glass of wine. "I don't want the wine." he says. My mother refuses as she never drinks. My sister says she is going to have a beer. I turn pale and say that if I drink it I might have to go to hospital. Mum asks if I'm sick. I love her for so much for her naivety in that moment and quickly mutter something about a sore stomach.
Ironically, the Mother's Day lunch was a success. We all got along. Laughed even. And I didn't even throw up. It was nice. And most of all, I realised that Mum (at least that day) only really wanted to spend time with us. No matter what state we were in.
Now I can hopefully relax a little about her upcoming birthday.
Expletive.
Kalikapsychosis