Continuing my materialess gifting for special occasions, I convinced one of my sisters to go in with me to celebrate Mother’s Day with Mom on a Saturday. We sprang for tickets at our local regional theatre to see a live performance of “Sister Act.”
My sister took the celebration to the next level: she bought all three of us the same off-white, flowing shirt. More like a dress since I don’t normally wear shirts that long. Both Mom and my sister teased me about not having to wear tight clothes all the time, which I don’t. Tight clothes are ill-fitting. All my clothes fit me, but since I work from home, then work out at the gym or dance studio, I wear leggings, a sports bra and a shirt that’s workout appropriate. So, it was with ironic flair that Mom, who is a recovering shopoholic, bought me yet another pair of leggings that looked like jeans.
We attended the matinee showing, so we’d enjoy the theatre and early dinner. Of course, Dad protested being left at home, but we gently reminded him that he has to regain his walking ability to go more places. That mobility challenge is exacerbated by early onset dementia.
Since we’d left home promptly at noon in order to drop off donations, we swung by a restaurant to check out the menu and make reservation, which turned out to be a moot point. Little did we realize that that restaurant bites off more than it can chew on the weekends. After waiting 30 minutes, a woman who was leaving finally gave us a heads up by telling us that the kitchen was running hours behind.
Fortunately, we had a Plan B. When I’d made reservations for 5 PM at the first restaurant and received a text message that our table was ready while we were still sitting in the lobby prior to the play, my spidey senses told me that the first restaurant would screw us.
I put a pin in that forebrooding during the musical. After all, the show entertained distracted me from having any dinner plan worries and best of all, Mom really enjoyed the play. I’m not sure whether or not Mom had ever seen the movie version.
Had I been more mindful of the fact that Mother’s Day weekend coincided with prom season and graduations, I would have definitely made reservations. Yet, my sister and I had spoken with both the owner and general manager of our Plan B restaurant a few weeks ago when we’d first visited. The general manager remembered us. The patio table we’d sat at just to wait for our number to be called, instead became our table.
One of the hosts brought us small plates and utensils while telling us the name of our server; however, when a server didn’t greet us within ten minutes, my sister took it upon herself to go to the host’s station to ask. En route, she crossed paths with our fabulous server who’d help make our previous visit so wonderful. At that point, we would have appreciated any server. As Mom put it, “I’m ready to a ‘pussum.”
As soon as our favorite server greeted us, my “hangriness” plummeted. From there, the last 90 minutes of waiting to be fed evaporated as our server brought out the garlic knots, followed by our brussel sprout appetizers, wine (except for Mom), then our entrees. We were so hungry, we even ordered dessert. Of course we all took half our entrees home.
Thanks to being on the patio, we watched the fancy vehicles, both very old and very new, parade by along with pedestrians and a reoccurring horse drawn carriage. One proud college graduate, whose family had rented out the event space next door, gifted chunks of her cake. By the time we got our actual dessert from the restaurant, we’d already shared a piece of graduation cake. They were both a delicious way to end the evening.
The morning of Mother’s Day, I attended my usual hot yoga class. Afterwards, I leisurely sipped a mimosa. Despite not ever birthing or adopting anyone, I have tough-mothered math/science students in the past and I help Mom with Dad’s caregiving.
In case the napkin wisdom isn’t legible in the previous picture:
My parents had attended one church; my sister and nephew another. I arrived in the parking lot a few minutes after both of them. As my sister wheeled Dad into the restaurant, Mom changed out of her heels. I approached her, wishing her a happy Mother’s Day and handed her the card that I’d decorated.
The family had met at a restaurant that we’d all agreed upon. Although it didn’t serve alcohol (actually, I’d front loaded the alcohol), it was a relatively quiet place, given the holiday weekend. No screaming/running kids, no hustle-bustle, no long lines, no sticky floors.
We had a pleasant, second Mother’s Day dinner. Once Dad finished with his meal, he did his usual post-dinner hobby of clearing the table space immediately around him. I boxed up his leftovers. Figuring that he needed something to do since he was so fidgety, I slid his to-go box and a pen toward him so he can write his name on it.
I could tell before Dad finished writing that he had jokes. I wrote my addition in capital letters above Dad’s word. Mom, like the Virgo she is, was more practical. Thus, a happy ending to another celebratory weekend.
