Ordinary Holiday

Being a Virgo, I am admittedly a perfectionist. Because of this, I tend to ruin holidays. I over plan, so the days I am most supposed to enjoy end up being an anxiety ridden mess.

My year long adventure into motherhood has been a great undoing of sorts in this aspect of my personality. I've been forced to recognize that I am not really in the least bit of control and that life is a daily set of negotiations, namely now with a being whose will I have come to discover is no less yielding than my own.

For the most part, there has been a great comfort and relief in this aspect of motherhood, namely because it has expedited a great life lesson I should have known all along. I've enjoyed being coerced into new life rhythms, dictated by time for naps and nursing, not to mention the way in which the world simply ceases to spin (if you'll let it) the instant that your child holds her hand up to your own in pure fascination with the size difference.

Yet, at the start of my second ever Mother's Day, I found my old habits ruling as I tried to plan the perfect holiday, a mix of family time and me time that would represent a near flawless 24 hours. The day, of course, would not go according to plan.

First, I wanted to finish reading a book, so I sneaked off early to bed on the night before Mother's Day only to be interrupted by a late-night package delivery that sent our dog into an uproar, despite the large sign outside our front door that begs people not to ring the door bell. Of course, this woke up our daughter and restarted our bedtime routine (the novel remains unread).

Next on my list, I wanted to sleep in. Instead, our daughter woke up at 2 am and then again at 4:30 am, flopping around in our bed like a fish between us and then, using the headboard, scooted herself into standing position and dropped down onto our shoulders or sides repeatedly in a WWE move that I can't imagine where she's learned seeing as she doesn't watch TV, until my husband finally got up and brought her downstairs to play. (Yes! Sleep!)

I did not want to do my own laundry. I ran out of clean bras and consequently suffered uncomfortably for most of the day in an old, ill-fitting one.

I wanted to go out to eat for breakfast. We ended up waiting outside the restaurant for nearly two hours while we chased our daughter up and down the sidewalk not only because Mother's Day is the most popular day to dine out according to the National Restaurant Association, but also because our restaurant was located mere blocks from the finish line for the Colorado Marathon.

As we navigated through a sea of runners in various colors of spandex, looking increasingly tired, sore and miserable, which was no doubt how I was beginning to feel, it did not help that my husband began to muse on the stupidity of those who willingly choose to do things they clearly hate.

This made me wonder about the purpose of Mother's Day to begin with and what it is we mother's really want. As I'd polled my other mother friends leading up to the holiday about how they would be spending “their special day,” most reported that they'd be spending time by themselves, going to a movie, getting a facial, sneaking off to read a book. My own list of wants was looking increasingly similar to theirs -- one single day off. Yet, isn't it virtually impossible to be simultaneously celebrated by your family and not be in the same room with them? It's no wonder that Anna Jarvis ended up arrested during a protest against the very holiday she spent her life trying to create.

Finally, midway through the day, I stopped searching for something extraordinary, and instead went for having just our plain ordinary Sunday.

After the afternoon nap, we went grocery shopping, and I watched my daughter push her miniature cart down the aisle with unfettered delight. I even cooked dinner and was relieved not to spend another meal trying to keep her from throwing food onto the floor, but instead allowing our four-legged vacuum cleaner to earn his keep. My husband and I even did dishes together and teased each other over who was spilling more water outside the sink.

The day ended in our own backyard as we tumbled in the grass and my husband and I attempted to have a handstand contest that ended in a draw because we couldn't keep our daughter at safe distance from our flailing legs as she tried to emulate our handstands, her tiny diaper-widened bottom waving in the air.

Of course, it hit me, our ordinary life brings the kind of extraordinary pleasure I'd spent the whole day looking for and isn't that after all what Mother's Day, motherhood, is really about.