A friend's Mother's Day blog post reminded me of a particular Mother's Day I experienced when I was still living in Brooklyn, in my twenties. I had come into the city to hang out with friends that day. I'm pretty sure we had dinner and then continued on to hit a few bars in the East Village, which was our usual haunt at the time, before it became first NYU-ified, and then whatever else it has become today.
After the festivities I was walking west towards Broadway on my way home to the subway, probably the Broadway Lafayette station—or I may have even been walking a friend home towards the West Fourth Street stop. But I distinctly remember that as soon as I hit Broadway I realized, at 12:01 am, that I had just missed Mother's Day. I'm not sure if it was the high spirits, but I knew immediately I HAD to call my mom and let her know that I hadn't forgotten. I called COLLECT from a phone booth on Broadway (when they still had phone booths) to wish her a happy Mother's Day and she wasn't pissed. We had a short conversation and then I hung up, feeling a teensy bit ashamed at almost missing it, but mostly relieved that I was able to tell her those three words (and relieved that she is a bit of a night owl, giving me that opportunity.) The true meaning of being a mom is in there somewhere.
So again, a day later, Happy Mother's Day!