There's a Hole in the Tire, or How I Spent My Mother's Day

Actually, that is entirely too dramatic a post title. See what I'll do to get attention?

In reality, the story is about as prosaic as you can get. I ran over a nail at some point in my gas-guzzling travels. The tire went WHOOOSHHH, PFFFFF sometime on Sunday. Triple A came to put on the donut tire. I had the tire repaired today.

Completely unnoteworthy, except for my inordinate pleasure that the mechanic who worked on my car was a young woman. I think this is the first time I've ever experienced a nonmale mechanic. The warm glow of sisterly solidarity almost made up for the fact that I spent two hours waiting for the tire to be patched and the alignment corrected.

Oh, the rest of Mother's Day, you ask? Just fine. I got to sleep in, we hung out with Jeff's family (who were staying with us this weekend), we went to my sister's for dinner. So pleasant that it made me reflect on the contrast with my first Mother's Day.

Jeff was traveling, and Sean was about 6 weeks old. I've mentioned that he was a complete pill as a baby, right? Like most days, he spent that day crying. I remember one particularly bad stretch, as I walked him around the house, bouncing, cuddling, trying in vain to calm him down. "Please stop crying, please stop crying," I said over and over again, tears streaming down my face and onto his. I couldn’t believe that my first Mother's Day was so miserable, and I was pretty sure that I didn't want to be a mother anymore.

I can't imagine going back to those early days. Since I'm pressed for time at the moment, insert platitudes about how I'm so much more capable and calm and how life is much sweeter now. Because really, it's all true. Happy belated Mother's Day to all the mothers, moms, mamas, mummies, and mommies out there.