At first I thought I was late in getting out a post about gift ideas for Mother’s Day (I mean it is next Sunday, May 8) but then I realized, phew, I am fine, because most of the people googling Mother’s day ideas are, well, guys, and this is early bird shopping for them. What? I am generalizing and sexist? Hmmm…not really. I do realize there are those who have already done their shopping (I am married to one) but for the most part the Sunday before Mother’s Day starts this shopping scramble.
Okay, fine, I’ll stop. Here is the information that you want:
For Moms with little little ones – Seriously – give her a handmade card (from the kids – that you help make and cleanup – no glitter if she is so opposed) and a cup of favorite breakfast beverage (breakfast in bed, a classic) and a new book or ereader (if you must go all digital – here are reviews of top ten) and take the kids to the playground for an hour or two. She wants to spend Mother’s Day with her babies but if she gets a cup of tea alone and a shower – well, that is a little slice of heaven. Maybe she wants to start the day with a mind-cleansing run – parcel out that time and then she can be prepped for the surprise breakfast delivery.
Top gift – handmade anything – nothing fancy but crayons and “I love you, Mommy” pretty much tops everything else. Don’t get me wrong – I am also a huge fan of the shiny – go electronic, go old school, whatever works. Jewelry is always good. Can’t figure out her favorite store or style? Don’t know the difference between hoops and studs? Sneak out a pair of her favorite earrings and slip into local shop (really, unless they are diamond studs, this is a good idea). The nice sales people can advise you from there. Go Old School – Books are always at the top of my list for great gifts. Need more? Pragmatic Mom has great ideas for gifts that don’t break the bank – here. Give a subscription to Brain, Child Magazine. Great reading. She will love it – grab a copy at the store and stick the confirmation inside.
Mommy Prayers Great book for mom – funny, poignant – perfect.
First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.
May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.
When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.
Guide her, protect her When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.
Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels. What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.
May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.
Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.
O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.
And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.
And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.
“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.