Last year this time, I was in New Orleans. Well, technically, I was finishing up a day at our company’s HQ, with an afternoon flight to NOLA.
It was kind of an amazing weekend. I’ve talked about it before, I’ll talk about it again. But it was a good time with good friends.
|My goodness - what a happy lady! She's laissezing the bons temps roulez.
One of the nice things about it was the timing. The Sunday of the trip happened to be Mother’s Day.
Here’s the thing about Mother’s Day. Everyone has, or at some point, had a mother. And people tend to assume, that if you are a woman of child-bearing or child-rearing age, that you are, by default, a mother.
I don’t have kids. I’m always tempted to answer, when people ask if I have kids, with the old hackneyed response, “None that I know of…”. I often settle for "Only the one I married." Har, har!
Anyway. Nothing is a more vivid reminder of your failure to reproduce like Mother’s Day.
So to be tooling around The Big Easy sipping a Bloody Mary on the big day – felt very, very right.
And unlike being in Nashville, a town so polite where everyone feels compelled to wish you, woman of child-bearing/rearing age a Happy Mother’s Day, only one New Orleanian said it to me. I must have given her the hairy eyeball because she quickly explained that all women are mothers inherently because of our nurturing qualities.
I don’t disagree, but since my kids that weekend were a group of friends celebrating a 40th birthday in a most unholy fashion, I wasn’t feeling especially maternal. Now, as the den mother of my group, I made sure that everyone called their moms that day, and they all did. I’m not a monster.
That brings me to this year.
I am not going on the NOLA trip. My friends are. It was such a good time, we decided to make it annual. But I couldn’t justify the expense this year. Next year. I did give my friend a bottle of Prosecco and a really cute card.
And as you know, I treated Mom to a pedicure last weekend, and I also sent her a bottle of her favorite nail polish with a really cute card.
But I’ll be here in Nashville Sunday. Presumably without a Bloody Mary to sip, but with plenty of laundry and such to keep me occupied. And what I think I’m going to do this year, in celebration of Mother’s Day, is to take the nurturing I lavish on others and turn it inward.
|Time to become my own cheerleader. Pom poms optional.
I’ll give it a shot in the coming year. And next year this time, I’ll let you know how that worked out.
With a little luck, I’ll be posting from NOLA with a ginormo bacon-garnished, olive-studded adult beverage.