Confession: I Love Mother's Day

It's a so-called "Hallmark holiday," beleaguered by consumerism and guilt-buying. It's the reason why shelves are full of icky #1 Mom mugs, bad chocolate, overpriced cards, and other detritus that ends up overflowing landfills. Its founder, Anna Jarvis, essentially disowned it.

Before I had kids, I called my mother and told her I loved her. Maybe sent flowers. That was about it. No big fuss, and no guilt. It was a Hallmark holiday, after all.

But now, as a mom of three, I must confess that I love Mother's Day. Here's why:

1. Secrets. All that whispering between my daughters and their dad leading up to the big day was pure joy. These girls love a secret, and they especially love having a secret from me. Bless them.

2. Self-directed art projects. Gotta love those awesome cards and posters...how sweet, right?  You know they won't be doing that anymore in only a few years' time. But best of all, it took them many nagging-and-boredom-free minutes to make them (secretly and quietly in their rooms). What mom doesn't love that?

3. Peace and quiet. Josh took all three kids out to buy the ingredients for brunch, and then to his parents' to cook it, leaving me ALL ALONE for almost two hours. I took a shower, without having to stick my head out three times to negotiate with a child. I got dressed, without any visitors. I left the house and walked in the sunshine to a nail salon, where someone soaked and rubbed my feet and put purple polish (aptly named "playdate") on my toes. Yes, my family knows how to pamper a mom.

4. Brunch. My mishpacha put together a meal of egg and whitefish salad, smoked salmon, potatoes (by Bella), arugula-walnut-parmigiano salad (with the most delicious dressing by Aunt Nina), and a beautiful fruit salad with mango, peaches, and pomegranate seeeds (by Ruby). They made sure I had a cup of coffee in my hand, without having to get up to fetch it. When the meal was over, they snapped at me for trying to help clean up. Wow.

5. Cooperation. For some reason, my instructions carry more weight on this day. The kids listen because it's against the understood rules to argue or disobey with me on Mother's Day. (Well, the big kids did. The two-year-old had better get with the program for next year.) Admittedly, it stinks that this isn't the case every day. But hey, I'll take it.

6. Love and appreciation. You'll notice there are no gifts on this list. I didn't get any, and I didn't want any. What I like most about Mother's Day is that my kids were reminded to appreciate me, and they did. They know that that it takes a lot to take care of them. I think that knowledge will go a long way to make them good mothers themselves one future day, should motherhood be in their cards.

All in all, I think Anna Jarvis would have approved.

No, there's no need for kids' day, we told the girls yesterday. Because every day is kids' day. Well, today I appreciate my unique and quirky and difficult and loving and wonderful kids--who made me a mother, after all--just a smidgeon more. And their dad, too.

Love, Chocolate, and Cultural Alienation

Valentine's Day is one of those days on the American calendar that makes me think about that ubiquitous adolescent debate from the USY kinnusim of my youth: Are you a Jewish American or an American Jew? Obviously, I'm both: American in many ways (ask my British friends), Jewish in many ways (ask my gentile friends).

I grew up in the American suburbs and I know all about riding my bike around quiet streets with no sidewalks, backyard barbecues, baseball games and the Super Bowl. At my Jewish summer camp there was always a 4th of July celebration, complete with square dancing, and in my Jewish school we celebrated Martin Luther King's birthday. But, at that same school there was nary a mention of Saint Valentine's Day. Same at home: no flowers, and no chocolates. My parents wouldn't even mention it. It was like Christmas! Just a regular day.

Not until my children went to a secular American school (in London, as it happens), did I first discover that it is customary on Valentines Day for children to distribute cards to everyone they know with chocolates attached to them. In kindergarden, Bella was assigned to make Valentines cards for all of her classmates (educational value? Writing the kids' names, I told myself...). I thought it was odd--what does a holiday about romantic love have to do with kids?

Well, my kids could answer that question in two seconds: anything having to do with chocolate is clearly meant for kids. The love stuff? Secondary and incidental. (We like good chocolate, and Bella and Ruby have developed a taste for what we call in our house "grown-up chocolate"-- that is, the 70% dark stuff. We used to be able to buy it and keep it to ourselves, but no longer.)

Some may say that Valentine's day is a "Hallmark" holiday, like Mother's Day, designed for consumer consumption. Certainly, when I walk through CVS this time of year, I see a lot of red and pink products for sale. It's the same aisle that's covered in orange and black in October, another month when I'm reminded of the ways in which I was raised within, and yet apart, from some American cultural obsessions. Halloween, when I was a child, meant sitting inside the front door of my house and waiting to give out candy to the neighborhood children. Does that sound cruel to you? It never seemed like anything but good fun to me, which is part of the strangeness of this particular type of cultural alienation. If you haven't done it, you don't really miss it. I don't seem to have the muscle memory for Valentine's Day or Halloween.

Perhaps our twenty-something babysitter was surprised when she asked if we were going out tonight, and I said no. After 18+ years together, Josh and I are good. (I love you, honey.) We can toast our relationship any day: ideally one when the restaurants don't all have over-priced pre-fixe menus.

I think I'll go buy us all some chocolate, though. Tomorrow, when it's on sale.