Mother's Day Fiasco

I have two children, so I qualify to celebrate Mother’s Day.  But most recent years, I’ve celebrated quietly with my husband.

I have a daughter who will be 30 in a month and a son who is 27.  My son, who has Asperger’s Syndrome, still lives at home – though we are working on that with him now.  He is kind and loving. 

My daughter is another story.  When she was a teenager, she became very dark and moody.  The doctor and I figured it was typical teenage angst or hormones.  She made home life very “interesting.”  When she went away to college, she left and never looked back – except when she needed something.  Typical?  Maybe.  She refused to listen to any advise from anyone, especially me.  Typical?  Maybe.  She was eventually, after graduation, diagnosed with BiPolar Disorder.  It explained a lot and with meds, she mellowed a bit.  But she recently told me she hadn’t been on her meds for several years – and it shows.

So how does this relate to Mother’s Day? 

My daughter has never acknowledged me on Mother’s Day.  Not a card or a call.  Not even an e-card.  She says she couldn’t afford it (I told her some e-cards are free) and she’s “not a card person.”  She used to live 6 hours away, so she couldn’t visit for Mother’s Day before.  She never called, tho’ she could call from her car when she was in traffic just to complain about the traffic.  She recently moved to a town less than a hour away.

It came as a great surprise, then, when my husband told me that my daughter had called him to see if he thought I’d like to go up there for dinner for Mother’s Day.  Plans were made and Thursday night (she’s working on Sunday) we went to see her current place. 

We went to Texas Roadhouse – a restaurant with great steaks and country music.  My daughter gave her name, asked for the manager whom she knows and whispered something to the hostess.  After a short wait, during which we had a very pleasant conversation, the four of us were seated in a booth designed for six.  I slid all the way in and got comfortable when my daughter decided I needed to sit on the outside, across from her instead of the inside.  Fine.  I slid all the way out, no easy task when your overweight and stiff from fibromyalgia, and sat on the outside.

My husband, who knew that she had bought a gift, thought it was because she wanted to be across from me to give me the gift.  When our drinks arrived, she was again whispering to the waitress.  I smelled a rat.  It wasn’t that loud.  I told her I was sensing a set-up.  She laughed that off.  She gave me the gifts she had bought:  a box of 9 hand-made Swiss chocolate truffles and a lovely necklace.  I was so happy!  Not about the gifts, though they were nice.  But this was the first time in perhaps  13 years that my family (just husband, kids and self) had sat down to a meal together.  I was so pleased that we were having pleasant conversation. 

When our food came, there was more whispering to the waitress.  Now I was sure something was up.  But I’m thinking along the lines of dessert – which I’d have eaten even though I’m finally back on the weight loss wagon and have lost 4 lbs.  Dinner was delicious.

When I was about half way through eating my meal, I noticed a commotion at the table behind me.  They staff had slid a saddle mounted on a wooden frame up to the side of the table.  They were trying to convince a 30-ish woman to mount up, which she reluctantly did.  They they shouted to quiet the restaurant, focused everyone’s attention on the now embarrassed woman and caused a general ruckus.  When the woman dismounted and the staff dispersed, they left the saddle near the booth.

That’s when I figured out what all the whispering had been about.  I also noticed that my daughter had been playing with her cell phone off and on while she ate her meal.  What was that about.  I would soon find out.

When I had perhaps a third of my meal left, sure enough, here comes the staff and the saddle.  I said no thank you and continued eating my meal.  My daughter, cell phone in hand, started badgering and pressuring me.  I said no and continued eating.  I am not someone who can be pressured into doing something that I don’t want to do.  She was like a dog with a bone – she wouldn’t let go of this.  I should say that, perhaps if I was 27 or if I was in better shape or if I didn’t have fibromyalgia I might have gone along with her idea of fun.  Then again, maybe not.  That kind of being the center of attention has never attracted me.

The staff, who had better things to do, accepted my decision and drifted away.  My daughter, on the other hand, kept at me.  Just get on.  No.  Why not? Don’t want to.  Finally it came out.  She had planned to take photos of me on the stupid thing and post them to Facebook.  Nothing like trying to humiliate your mother to make for a great Mother’s Day celebration.  I maintained my composure as we finished the meal and drove her home.  As I was hugging her and thanking her for the gifts, she started in on it again.  I should have done it.  It would have made great pictures.  I still kept my composure.  But I cried half way home.  It felt so hurtful that she would think posting photos of me would be “fun.” 

When we got up to leave, my legs had stiffened due to the fibromyalgia and the fact that, being short, the booth was uncomfortable for such a long meal.  My fibro has flared significantly due to the stress. 

Happy Mother’s Day to everyone.  Here’s hoping you don’t get put on the spot and embarrassed by your children.

This was certainly a Mother’s Day that I’ll remember!