I have no reliable memory of celebrating Mother’s Day as a child. Certainly, no one served my mother breakfast in bed. Perhaps my father bought her flowers once in a while, but mostly she clipped her own blooms—usually pink and red camellias from our front yard—and floated them in a bowl on our dining room table. But that was year round, not just on Mother’s Day.
I’m convinced my mother, whose name was Flora, meaning flower in Latin, would have thought the whole idea of Mother’s Day ridiculous, wondering at celebrating mothers once a year while dumping on them on the rest of the time.
“When something is wrong with a child, they always blame the mother,” she used to say. Fathers, in her view, never came in for the same level of criticism.
I am also a bit of a cynic when it comes to this holiday. Its arrival on the second Sunday in May seems to be accompanied by equal measures of guilt and high expectations, plus, invariably, a few regrets tempering the joys of the occasion. Perhaps, in this, it has something in common with motherhood itself.
That’s not to say most mothers don’t find pleasure being mothers, and, on Mother’s Day (or any other day), being celebrated for it, receiving gifts of flowers and chocolates, being treated to fancy brunches and opening a card that expresses love in sentimental verse, as in this one credited to “Anon”:
My Mother, my friend so dear,
Throughout my life you’re always near.
A tender smile to guide my way,
You’re the sunshine to light my day.
For some (though I don’t think I’ve ever met these folks) that may be just the emotion to characterize their relationship with Mom, but for many of us it’s a lot more complicated than that.
I did love my mother, but I seldom told her so, nor do I recall hearing from her or my father that I was dearly loved, even though I believe they cared deeply for all four of their children. It just wasn’t something you actually put into words in those days.
I didn’t confide in my mother, nor she in me—we weren’t really “friends,” as so many kids seem to be with their parents these days. I know she had secrets, stories and feelings she never shared with me, and, now that she’s been gone for 20 years, I wish I had gotten know her better and asked more about her childhood in Glasgow, her own immigrant parents, and her four siblings.
But, in ways that would surely surprise her, I have followed in her footsteps, particularly during the pandemic when food and cooking took on new meaning and I spent hours obsessing over recipes, cookbooks and trying to create the perfect loaf of sourdough bread (nope, not there yet!).
Though Mom never got into sourdough—or attempted to make bread, at least that I can remember, she did pass a great deal of time in the kitchen. I’ve written several pieces about her love of baking, which I share. In case you missed them, here are two:
Dinner with Judy
We celebrated Mother’s Day this year a day early with my mother-in-law Judy Graham. Her son Jeff has told me on several occasions that his mother doesn’t really care about Mother’s Day and used to refer to it as “just another Hallmark holiday.” But then, because he suspects she would be hurt if he simply ignored the occasion, he insists on buying some flowers and a card (Hallmark, of course!) and inviting her and her partner Michael Ansell out to dinner.
This year’s card skimps on the sentiment.
“Hey, Mom!” it says. “I found a Mother’s Day card that captures the experience of raising a son like me…”
The pop-up illustration inside looks like this:
That not-so-subtle cartoon might characterize the turbulent experience of many a mom—including me. But I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Too bad the twists and turns of life and the pandemic have made celebrating Mother’s Day with our son Sam in Japan possible only via Zoom. Guess we can always hope it will be different in 2022.
The holiday is also celebrated in Japan, with kids expected to show appreciation for their mothers with gifts and flowers and by doing chores. One account I read said that children sometimes draw portraits of their moms in class.
This reminds me that Sam, an artist and animator, once made a cartoon satirizing an interaction he and I had shortly after he graduated from college and started dropping by to check out what was in the refrigerator and make himself a snack.
Clearly, I didn’t rate the Perfect Mother Award then any more than I do now. Still, my son did have the grace to call me this year to wish me a Happy Mother’s Day.
“Thanks for being my mother,” he said. “But I think you should thank me too. If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t be a mother. I gave you the gift of motherhood.”
Ever the sassy kid! But he’s right. Motherhood is a gift—at least most of the time.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers out there—and to the sons, daughters, husbands, grandchildren, relatives and friends who love them!
Thanks for reading the latest edition of Ruth Talks Food. Please don’t forget to leave a comment about how you’re celebrating Mother’s Day—or not. And please become a subscriber if you’re not already. Thanks again.