Day just doesn’t stir up the emotional juice to the same extent that Mother’s Day does. Neither for those celebrating
nor for those bemoaning their inability to participate in the way they’d like.
Fathers are admired on Father’s Day.
Mother’s are lionized on Mother’s Day.
Maybe it has something to
do with the whole passing the equivalent of an 8-lb. turkey breast to get the whole baby thing going that elevates mothers
that much more.
a mom who paid her dues not in passing a baby in the conventional sense, but rather, in passing immigration and clearing customs,
in laboring through paper work and breathing hard for the long-awaited FexEx package from Beijing, the distinction seems a
bit inflated to me.
After all, Mother’s Day is a construct; Father’s Day a sort of dessert and coffee to the Mother’s
Day brunch and mimosas. By July, we’re ready to push away from the table. A breather until October, when Grandparent’s
Day shuffles in, quiet and unassuming, but sweet.
In between, I quite like July 4: the fireworks, the kids, the noise, the community party; everyone
is included, no one person or group singled out.
No kid to hold on your shoulders? Just look up. And enjoy the star bursts and the freedom. And let
the countdown begin: 3-2-1, or 321 days until Cinco de Mayo, also known as National Infertility Survival Day® 2013.