We had all returned home from church on a bright sunny day in May, Mother’s Day, 1993. So far, the only gift I had received was a tiny notepad and pen in the shape of a rose during the morning service. I began to think about what to make for dinner since there was no mention of taking me out to the IHop for their Mother’s Day special, when my husband announced that he was taking the children to the Mall.
Aha!
I had barely set the table when they all arrived home toting large Sear’s bags. The children ran to their rooms returning promptly, proudly displaying their new tennis shoes. When my husband showed me his new Nikes, I fled the house in tears. Driving nowhere in particular, I noticed the gas gauge pointing downward, so I pulled into the nearest gas station where the nozzle, upon my lifting, caused an air pocket in the tank and gasoline erupted directly in my face. I rounded out Mother’s Day having my eyes irrigated with saline solution, with my lids taped open for two hours at a nearby emergency room, as my husband and children waited in the corridor in their new shoes.
My husband didn’t give me anything on that Mother’s Day, nor has he since. I know you may think him cruel and stupid. But if you met my husband, you would know that he is neither–he just doesn’t give me anything on designated Hallmark days. It makes perfect sense to him, so there’s no talking to him about it. He also doesn’t give me anything on my birthday because our birthdays are on the same day. And even though Hallmark’s not involved, and one would think I was in the clear, we both wake up, say happy birthday, and it goes downhill from there.
But my husband does celebrate our wedding anniversary. A designated date he celebrates with bells on. So, this year I ventured out and asked him, why he only celebrates our anniversary. He explained to me his reason behind it and as lame as it was, it did make sense in a weird sort of way. I will pass on his profound answer later–but before I do, here’s a list of what my husband has done in the past on non-designated days of no importance–
On a regular day in March, between St. Patrick’s Day and the First Day of Spring, I found diamond earrings in the kitchen towel drawer. On a hot afternoon in July a couple days before the Fourth, a paper airplane landed in my knitting basket with hearts drawn on it with a magic marker. He once slid a sheet of paper under my office door with the word “Hi” typed in large bold black letters, on a No-Hallmark-Day-In-Sight Saturday, exhausting the ink in his printer. A mushy rhyming poem on his letter head business paper appeared under the coffee pot, on a Thursday in February after the Valentine candies were safely stacked on the clearance shelves at Walgreens. A yellow Post-It with Shakespearean type verses of love’s splendor stuck to the dashboard of my car with a candy cane taped to it on a cold day in January. And my favorite: A handful of Cadbury Eggs in the bottom of a plastic Home Depot bag, along with a paint brush he forgot he bought, jammed in my purse a week after Easter.
But our anniversary he celebrates with great gusto. He plans for it and has never forgotten it. He even carries on a conversation with me while we’re out on the town having our annual dinner. He reminisces about our lives, our marriage, etc. So, as I’m sitting across from him in a booth at Cheesecake Factory, I asked him why this is the only day he recognizes. He told me it’s because he thought of it. He put the date on the calendar. I don’t know if I was caught up in the moment or what, but I accepted the answer as he went on fondly downloading all his loving thoughts about me he’d stored up for the year.
Do I wish my husband would remember Mother’s Day and other events? Ideally, yes. I believe certain designated days should be celebrated. I love to celebrate many occasions and go all out. But I’m not always celebrated in the way I want, so with this sadness, I’ve dug deep. When I was a young woman, a great emphasis on Proverbs 31 inspired me to be the best wife and mother, as these were cherished roles to me. But I had placed this portion of scripture upon the throne of my life as my identity. So, I read it again: It says your children will rise up and call you blessed and your husband will praise you. In other words, it means your family will appreciate you. But it doesn’t say how or when. I decided Hallmark would never determine my worth or identity again.
My adult children do well by me on Mother’s Day, and this is fine as my husband continues to be nowhere in sight. That is, until the day after Mother’s Day when a paper airplane flies through the room while I’m trying to watch a rerun of Downton Abbey. So, of course, I am truly blessed. But I keep my eye on our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who nourishes my identity every day of the year. I can count on that because, he thought of it before the foundation of the world. Life is fleeting and forever changing. But a great designated hallmark celebration is ahead.