Maraya Steadman '89, '90MBA | May 16, 2019
I’ve been up since 6 a.m. I got up, made coffee and walked the dogs while the house and the neighborhood slept through a rainy Sunday morning.
This should be nothing exceptional, the birds chirping, the flowers blooming, the heavy air remaining after the night’s storm, except today is Mother’s Day. It is the one day of the year that I feel entitled to sleep in.
Frank Hering, a former football coach and faculty member at Notre Dame, is considered by many to be the “Father of Mother’s Day.” Anna Jarvis would not agree, and Woodrow Wilson might also want some credit, he established the second Sunday in May as Mother’s Day in 1914.
Getting to sleep past 6 o’clock on the second Sunday morning in May is an entitlement given to me by the President of the United States and supported by florists, bakeries, candy companies, hotels that serve brunch, the Senate and Hallmark Cards, Inc. — a company that prints a Mother’s Day card that reads, “Thanks for being my Bungee cord.”
And even though the President of the United States decided that this is my day, the only one who got to sleep in at our house on Mother’s Day was Dad. The Mother’s Day fights in our house started on Tuesday this year.
“I just found out today that I’m supposed to make a brunch reservation for Sunday!” he declared on Tuesday morning.
“Really? You just found out today? Because it’s been on the calendar for, what, a hundred years?”
The fight ended with a litany of my husband’s Mother’s Day accomplishments over the years. He was searching for validation, despite the missing brunch reservation. Instead of being kind and acknowledging his Mother’s Day victories, I reminded him of the year he bought me a bucket of rat poison.
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