L'Enfant Terrible

It started over a week ago. We were driving from the restaurant and Elizabeth innocently asked what I wanted for Mother's Day. My answer wasn't pleasant nor complementary. The answer hinged on memories of past Mother's Days that were often thrown together affairs by the 50-cent husband with four daughters.
"You're not my mother," he once joked.

He paid for that joke for a long time.

One Mother's Day I asked for white fencing around our ugly metal fence to hide the backyard. He got it, but sulked the entire weekend.

It's not a pleasant day for me to me honest, until I get to visit my mother. Usually some of my sisters, their families, and my family have brunch or dinner with Mom. The younger cousins run around playing, and the older ones hang around the dining room table chatting with the adults. It's really very pleasant.

But mornings on Mother's Day are typically ugly.

Les throws together his version of Eggs Benedict, bacon with runny eggs on toast. The girls might have or have not made me a card or bought me a present. Luckily our church sells roses on that day, so I might get a rose or two. Les might run to a nursery and pick out some potted plant.

There have been some wonderful moments, but usually the approach of Mother's Day is a grim affair at the Paur house. This year it was no different. In fact, it probably took the cake. 




The two older girls went to prom the night before. They slept over at a friend's house. That arrangement didn't bode well with my visions of a happy Mother's Day morning.

I went to mass Saturday night with Elizabeth and Bridget. Les went the next morning at 8 a.m. with Monica and Genevieve. I had the house to myself. I ate an English muffin and drank coffee on my side porch. Very pleasant. I whipped up a frittata thinking everyone would be home around 10 and we could eat together. Then I took a long bath and got ready. Hmm. The family should be home any time now.  I checked my phone. There was a missed phone call from my husband. I texted him. I texted the prom-daughters. Nothing. Hmm. The family should be home any time now. More texting. No response. No response. The frittata was still in the oven turning into rubber. Hmm. Hmm. Hmm. Do the math, each time I checked my phone and saw nothing my anger rose. Direct proportional relationship.

Finally, at around 10, I decided to run away. I left my phone at home and walked.

"Maybe I'll get kidnapped. They'll feel real bad! Worse, I keel over from a heart attack, and they'll have to deal with their guilt of neglecting me. I'll leave my phone and let them know what it feels like not to answer.

I walked to the west edge of town and then down to the arboretum which flanks the small lake. I found a bench and waited, and waited, and waited. A drunk approached me. I told him I was running away from home. I think he wanted me to run away with him.

A few other people passed by and cheerfully shouted out, "Happy Mother's Day," to me. Didn't they know I was not a happy mother that day? The sun scorched my skin (I ran away without the SPF 50). I saw a snake slither in the water.

Why aren't they looking for me? They should be here with the van (so I don't have to walk two miles home) pleading with me for forgiveness for their obvious neglect.

By noon it was time to head back since we had to be at my sister's house by 1:30. As I approached the house I saw the pop-up camper up.

That's why they didn't go looking for me, they were setting up the camper. They didn't even miss me! They're probably playing a game inside. Maybe they're planning the party after my funeral!

I stormed into the house, grabbed the desserts and Mom's gift and stashed them into the back of the van (yes, I threw the prom-girls' junk that was in the back onto the grass). I ran upstairs to throw some makeup on (and deodorant if you wondered), and stomped down the stairs, ready to leave them all home without me.

I drove away but only got to the end of the block. I called home. Genevieve answered.

"I'm gone." I said.

"Yeah, I know. You left us." (Not an iota of sympathy in her voice.)

"Do you want to go?"

"Yes, we're all waiting."

I drove around the block and picked them up.

Words were exchanged. Loudly, but not really a domestic dispute. My family did search for me, but didn't think about the arboretum (they probably figured it was too far for lazy me to walk). They did text, but almost an hour later.

We apologized.We all had a laugh. We moved on.

I'm not proud of my behavior. L'Enfant Terrible is too nice a word for my childish behavior, but the long walk gave me plenty of time to think. To begin with, my expectations are not my family's expectations. What's important to me is not necessarily important to them. To be sure, I'm important to them, but how they express it is different.

Also, their expression of love may not look like much. Most of the time that's because they don't do it my way, the perfect, neat, beautiful way. But, I have to ask myself, would I welcome someone criticizing my work because I didn't do it his or her way? When I stopped being such a snob, I realized that their cooking and gifts were truly amazing. How many men would try to cook Eggs Benedict?

Many other thoughts crowded my mind on that walk, but one thing that kept haunting me was there were many lonely mothers without the love and companionship of their children (and grandchildren) on that day, and there were many children without the love of their mothers. I'm not talking about deceased members of a family-which is sad too - but the estranged families, the ones that have stopped being family.

I was a jerk, but my family forgave me. All relationships are a give and take, often requiring large doses of humility and mercy. They also require selfless and unselfish attitudes. "What's in it for me?" is a toxin that destroys any relationship. I had to admit it, I was sucking down that selfish toxin in huge doses. Gratefully my family loved me enough to see past that.

What will my attitude me next Mother's Day? Will I remember the L'Enfant Terrible and try not to impose my expectations onto others? Will I demand a perfect breakfast and gifts galore with children and 50-cent husband doting on me?

Grace Urbanski from the Apostleship of Prayer said something in one of her recent talks I had attended. "Let God surprise you."

That's great advice. I'll add something to that, "Let your family surprise you."

If you're estranged from a loved one, please forgive or ask for forgiveness. It might require a few tries, but in the end it will be worth it.

Happy Belated Mother's Day.