I forgot to get my mother, mother-in-law, or step-mother-in-law cards today. I mean, completely forgot. Just forgot that that's something people do. I don't even really feel bad about it. I'm honestly impressed by the strength of my own desire to repress all thoughts of celebrating mothers.
But mothers must still be celebrated, even if belatedly. So this morning, when Lawyer Guy and I went to the grocery store to pick up some last-minute ingredients for the brunch my mom was making, we stopped off at Rite Aid and made our way to the card aisle.
Do you remember poking at your loose teeth with your tongue back in elementary school? I would push against them, feeling the give along my gums, hearing the pop of the loosening root and the releasing suction of the socket. I was addicted to the relief of that pain.
So I stood in a suburban drugstore at nine in the morning, grabbing cards from shelves labeled "Mother's Day: For My Daughter," "For My Wife," "For the Mother-to-Be," picking them up one after the other and reading the doggerel verse, the cheap glitter coating my fingers. I hate mass-produced greeting cards. I like to buy my limited-run letter-pressed cards printed on eco-friendly materials and designed by independent card makers from locally run stationery stores. I'm a paper snob.
But one of these cards caught my eye, curlicued print and all.
"This would be nice for you to give me."
"Well, one day I'll give you one."
I didn't receive any cards this year, and the one I picked out for my mom said something about calling her on dark days. I added a subtitle about screaming at her, too.
I did get an e-mail, though, from my former Junior League chair. The one who revealed she had a miscarriage in her past.
"Thinking about you today."
It's nice to be thought of.
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