It’s a well known, widely accepted, peer reviewed fact that the greatest gift you can give your mother for Mother’s Day is not flowers or hugs or a kiss on the cheek; it’s not a pretty card with a thoughtful note inside saying how much you miss her and how much she means to you; it’s not a flouncy skirt or a fancy bottle of EVOO or even a new addition to her house (though she’ll debate the last one). It’s a donut. Which as far as I’m concerned is the edible incarnation of love.
Hand her said donut, shout Happy Mother’s Day! then shut your mouth and let the donut do it’s magic. I have never known anything, let alone a pastry that so eloquently expresses those immemorial qualities you cherish in the woman who gave you life: warmth, sweetness, freshness, endless variety. Sprinkles. If you’re on good terms with your mother a donut only reassures her that you’ve grown up to be a straight tree; that her life’s mission was not in vain. If you’re on bad terms with your mother, a donut makes atonement for all the sins of your youth. Or nearly.
You may smile here and accuse me of hyperbole, of being cheeky and silly and making spurious claims. But I will stand my ground. The reason I feel at liberty to make such bold, philosophical claims about donuts and mothers is because I’m coming to terms with this important holiday and what it means. What we really mean when we say we’re celebrating Mother’s Day is that we’re celebrating our mothers this day. We’re not cheering the collective. We’re not hailing the entire group ‘Mothers’, nor are we praising some abstract ‘mothering’ we perceive in the world. We’re talking about being mother snobs. We’re thinking about the ones next to you in the picture frame on top of the piano; the one holding you when you were a swaddling baby, and the other one holding the swaddling baby that happens to be your daughter, who is turning into a mini-me of her mother. I’m referring to those fierce ladies. The queens. The cream of the crop.
It’s a pure relief to celebrate only them today because even that is a lot. To think about mothers is to think about LIFE, and to think about life is to spill all your beans on the floor and realize there’s so much you could pick up and talk about. So much that’s meaningful. Earlier this week I began rummaging through my memories. I began thinking of life lessons, Mom-isms as it were; then I had it. By a stroke of luck it came it me as soon as I thought of donut.
A few years back when my mother and father became empty nesters they commenced a new goal of getting back in shape. Running more, eating less, buying vitamins. Whenever I called home they were either on their way to a run, or on their way back from a run. It happened that my dad, being the faster of the two, somehow became informally ‘the trainer’, and my mother ‘the trainee’.
After their workouts my mother would recount these sessions to me. This is when I learned that my father’s famous motivational tagline was: “You’re almost there.”
Absolutely golden.
Suffice to say, for awhile now “You’re almost there”, has been one of me and my mother’s prized inside jokes. It has been our motto. Our unmotivation. But today I ratify that tagline. I bring it up to speed and declare the almighty truth: Mother, you’re there. You’ve made it.
The truth is that when I think of the mothers in my life, I feel the very same way. To celebrate Mother’s Day is to remember that in the midst of this absurd, heartbreaking, glorious world, you’re there. You’re home. You’ve arrived. You’re loved. You’re you.
What a sweet thing to remember, and a sweet thing to pass on. Today I raise the donut as my tiny declaration. Mother, I give you permission to splurge, to end the run early, go home and pour yourself a cold glass of milk.
Here’s to the mommas I love to the moon. You know who you are.
For you: sprinkles on sprinkles.
show & tell 