Mother's Day
Motherhood The day is coming, the one that many women detest, the second Sunday in May. I look forward to it -- not because I expect to put my feet up and be served breakfast in bed, or to be pampered, or spared toddler-tantrums or diapers or to be worshiped -- but because I feel like the luckiest woman in the world that I get to be a mom. I'm an old mom by many people's standards, a 42-year-old with a toddler. Many of my friends have children who are heading to college while I'm just starting. I hide the tiny strands of silver gray that threaten to call me Grandma and pretend that age is only a number, that I'm really only three and a half dozen. For years I dreaded the day. I pitied myself on Sunday morning when all of the mothers of the congregation were asked to stand and receive a flower or a candy bar or some token as to say, "Here is your reward..." Reward for what? I wasn't sure; I was too busy (depending on the year) feeling t...