I just celebrated Mother’s Day for the very first time. Not that I haven’t wished my own sweet mother joy in years past, but those were tail-between-my-legs sheepish and, admittedly, of the lazy-mouthed, long voweled, dutiful son “Happy Mother’s Day, mom…” variety. They always included a card, though. But this Sunday was more of an “Oh, my gracious, I am now responsible for keeping and wholeheartedly observing an entirely new holiday.” It scared me and made me quite nervous to ponder such weighty burden. I also realized yesterday that, upon a first child’s birth, husband and wife transform into father and mother in the swipe of an epee, and one’s realm of responsibility instantaneously adds three new dates to the yearly calendar:

1. The child’s birthday. Easy and appropriate enough.
2. Father’s Day. Ennnh….do people make that big of a fuss over dads these days?
3. Mother’s Day. You’re dead meat if you forget.
Fatherhood, ain’t she grand?

p.s. Happy Mother’s Day, mum. Hope you love the framed baby pics of your first grandchild.