Dan's Papers - May 9, 2008

Was started by Hallmark Cards.
Began with the ancient Greeks honoring the earth mother goddess.
Began with the ancient Romans celebrating the goddess of childbirth.
Was started as a women's peace movement after the American Civil War.
The answers? All are true except the first.

So says the research. But ask tany mother what Mother's Day is, and many will simply say, longingly, hopefully, that it's a day for mothers to be shown respect and love. For me, recognizing my own mother on Mother's Day sometimes felt like a chore (as a teenager), other times as an opportunity. But no matter what my frame of mind, thinking of her from smothering to mothering, there was an agonizing task: choosing the perfect card. Should I go for something artsy? Moody? Huge and garish? Soft and sentimental? And what about the message? During my rebellious years, I'd read card after card with gushing poesy, thinking "Ha! I wish!" On a few occasions, I gave up and got blank cards where I could write something short and appropriate. Then, in my 30s when I came to really appreciate my mother and worked out my "issues," I'd pick blank cards where I could write my own thoughts and feelings.

After the card comes the gift. A difficult choice for any child of any age, unless your mother is happy with chocolates and flowers. Whenever we kids asked our mother what she wanted for her special day, she'd simply say "peace of mind."

My mother had eight children. We have one. I had no idea. And just before we had our son, a friend said, "Be prepared to worry for the rest of your life." He was right. He had one. He knew.

The 2007 census showed that 21.2 million kids under the age of 21 - that's about a quarter of that demographic - are raised by a single parent. And 84% of those parents - 11.4 million - are mothers. Do single moms worry twice as much as moms who can share the worry with another parent? Do moms who have eight children worry eight times as much? Or is worry like putting on sunscreen with different SPF numbers? They don't compound, you just go with the highest common denominator. Once you have a child, is the worry quotient so high that you just can't glom anymore on top? Is that why my mother wanted "peace of mind?" on Mother's Day?

I don't know. Our son isn't old enough to ask us what we want, but he's old enough to know that it isn't a toy car or a Transformer. He's getting attuned to buying a gift that the gift-ee wants, not what he wants. In fact, he got very excited at a pack of bejeweled plastic rings he saw at the Sag Harbor Variety Store. "Mommy would love these!" he said.

As far as what I want, at the risk of sounding like a Hallmark card, I have my gift. It was given to me five years ago at Mount Sinai when my partner gave birth to him, with his 21-inch, 9-pound self. When the nurses moved him to the baby weigh station, I shielded his eyes from the harsh lights above, worried that the brightness might be painful. Every day since, there seems to be something else I feel he needs to be protected against, something that, as a mother, awakens me at night with a rush of worry.

My own mother has been gone more than a decade. She never met our son. And now, five years into being a mother, I wish I would've chosen for her the biggest, most garish, over-the-top cards with the most gushing messages. But more than that, I wish I could've given her peace of mind.