Mother’s Day

Ok now it feels gross. We are 0% interested in re-engaging. We are every bit as full of rage as we were that day when I was at Kohl’s when we first found out what she did. I know this because as we were talking about it last week we went from “how are we supposed to care appropriately?” to rage crying and yelling in about 5 minutes. It is the classic inexcusable behavior inside a person you want to be ok konundrum. Is that even a word? You know what I mean.

I caught a glimpse of her when she snuck in to drop of a gift for T’s birthday. She looked good and was moving good. She saw the doors open and my car in the garage. She didn’t attempt to engage. And you know I didn’t.

I listened in as T called her to thank her for the gift. She sounded good. I know she isn’t suffering.

But Mother’s Day is this weekend. For the past zillion years Mother’s Day is celebrated as S buys her a dozen yellow roses (her fave) and leaves them on her table so she can see them right away when she gets home from work. The last few years since she has retired the delivery has had different timing, but always a visit and roses. Oh, and the required super schmoopy you’re the best Mom in the world card. I usually buy it. I find the schmoopiest one with the most words and a little glitter or something so it looks extra special.

But I cannot do it this year. I cannot. Do. It. I will not.

And I also don’t feel like ignoring her is an option.

There isn’t a greeting card that says what I want it to say.

You’ve had a shit year. Happy Mother’s Day.

You are the most selfish Mom I know.

Somehow your son is amazing.

Here is a can of Round Up. Happy Mother’s Day.

You tried. Kind of. Happy Mother’s Day.

Next year you won’t be in this apartment. Probably.

ugh