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Magic.

So today is Mother’s Day. Cynical types may say that today is much like Valentine’s Day, designed by the greeting card companies as an excuse to spend some dough on a present and a card. Well what do cynics know? Today is the day we celebrate Mom’s love and all she has done for us over the years.

To celebrate, Earl and I teamed up with my sister and took my Mom out to a restaurant in the middle of nowhere. Situated on 100 acres of land near the Finger Lakes, Elderberry Pond Restaurant features all organic food served in a rustic, country cabin/barn type setting. The food was delicious. We highly recommend the experience. Mom seemed to have a good time.

When I was a kid, I was somewhat aware that my Mom was the “cool Mom”. On field trips, which she rarely, if ever missed kids flocked from all corners to be in her group. Always one to hear her own drumbeat, she wasn’t much of the June Cleaver type; I learned early on in life to eat what was placed in front of me and to enjoy it lest it be snatched out from under my nose and dumped down the disposal. I was an expert at navigating the piles of laundry in the hallway between my bedroom and the bathroom during trips in the middle of the night. None of that mattered though, because Mom was more concerned with making sure her kids were happy and well-adjusted. Laundry could wait if it meant she could serve on the band booster club executive board or help out with my sister’s baton twirling troupe. When we did something wrong we knew it. But when we did something right, we knew that too.

It’s not easy to watch your Mom get older as she progresses into the age bracket that was once occupied by your two grandmothers. She’s not as quick with the reflexes. She walks a little slower. It’s hard to say “remember when…” when you launch into a story and then realize that she doesn’t really remember. “But mom, you must remember when I tried to fly by jumping off the barn roof…” (I was 16 – just kidding). Perhaps she purposely forgot the idiotic stuff. I’m sure she remembers the time she threw an impromptu birthday party for the kid down the road that didn’t get a party at home or both round trip rides to New York for her kids’ eighth grade trip. (Have you ever tried managing a group of 113 eighth graders on a subway platform in the Big Apple?)

I remember thinking as a kid once or twice what it would be like to have Barbara Eden or Elizabeth Montgomery as my Mom. Today I realize there’s no reason to wonder for she has her own kind of magic.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.