Yesterday I received a wonderful mail from a dear friend wishing me for Mother’s Day. We both are working moms of boisterous boys. Therefore the mail, which talks about the mothers who do everything right and those who don’t, made both of us smile in agreement. Then there was another wish from my best friend that called me a super mom. (Now, if I did half a good job as his mom I would be happy with myself!)
For one, it feels nice to be acknowledged for a role that is all too obvious and at most times taken for granted. But then the crass commercialization hits on the face. “She gave the best years of her life for you. Buy her a diamond to show how much you love her” Excuse me? I don’t even LIKE diamonds!
[In our house, we are two women (Ma and I), both mothers. And since we are not particularly gender-biased the gents (Baba and Ro) make up the other half of the household.]
Being a Sunday, I decided to surprise Ma by making the morning tea. She sipped with a smile but I realized soon enough the brew wasn’t even close to what she prepares every morning.
The rest of the morning we decided to laze. And suddenly, almost on impulse Ro came up with the brilliant idea of painting tattoos.
“Make a special tattoo for me, Mommy. It's Happy Mother’s Day!”
“Huh? Aren’t you supposed to do something for me?”
“Noooo! I want to show them how good you paint.” Infallible logic.
So we sat down, to draw a dragon. Chinese one. No wings and lots of flames.
After about twenty minutes.
“That’s a coooool dragon!” he smiles smugly at the result.
“You like it?”
“Yeah!” Tight hug and a wet kiss followed to show me just how much.
He ran downstairs even before the paint had dried.
The rest of his friends ran home to demand tattoos from their respective mothers and some of them even called me in distress. “Happy Mother’s Day” I said with a smile.