I’m not having a good Mother’s Day. Other people get depressed at Christmas. I have to get depressed on Mother’s Day. That’s absolutely not permitted, at least by the voices in my head.
I never used to get depressed on holidays, ever. But I am today. It’s probably not polite to be depressed when all those hard working, loving, awesome Mom’s out there are getting honored, but there it is.
They deserve to be honored. I attribute the low infanticide rates to the incredible power of Motherhood. I also think that it’s somehow miraculous that more young mothers don’t run amok and go postal. You know, every once in a while you see a headline about a mom killing her kids. Even then, she can’t bear to see them off alone, so she commits suicide, just to be with them.
My God, I can’t believe what I’m writing.
Is there some Catholic patron saint for son’s who were raised by wolves? I’m not especially catholic, but I don’t care where the help comes from today. You can light a candle, say a spell, or just send me a big, long hug. It’s all good( but honestly, the last one is better).
Does this mean I have Mother/Son issues?
Mother’s Day began In 1872, when Boston poet, pacifist and women’s suffragist Julia Ward Howe established a special day for mothers –and for peace– not long after the bloody Franco-Prussian War.
Mother’s Day is not just about buying a card and saying, “Thank you”. It’s about living peace, and mercy, and kindness….blah, blah, blah.
Whatever. It’s always about that.
ME, ME, ME…
The worst part is, a voice inside me is saying, “You must create a Post today.” Are the blog gods going to punish me if I don’t post? If I don’t create a post, will no one ever, ever look me up again? Will I die, lonely and forsaken, in my isolated corner of The Blogger’s Old Folks Home??
When an attractive stray visitor comes in, after having taken a wrong turn at the Nurses Station, will I belabor him with phlegm soaked stories of how I once had a thriving blog, with lot’s and lot’s of visitors, until in fear and horror he fights his way free of my palsied, clutching, liver-spotted hands, emerging exhausted and frightened into the sunlight?
Me, me, me…
Like I said, “I got issues.”
I’ll be fine, though, really.
Be loved guys,