A little over a year ago I began this blog when I realized that my Facebook friends did not want to hear my whining for more than two posts in a row.  And that some whining was just too personal to be shared with friends.

I was whining about my perception of being disregarded for our oldest daughter’s prom.

I’m still whining.  But, to paraphrase Celine Dion, the heart will go on–and on–and on.

So last weekend was Mother’s Day.  I hate Mother’s Day, as I’m sure I’ve whined about in another post somewhere.  That’s right.  I started whining on another blog that I shared on Facebook, then realized that really wasn’t taking my whining off Facebook, so went underground.

I sent my kids’ mom flowers this year, our last year of a “shared” Mother’s Day with school-aged kids, and said thank you for sharing her kids for the last 17 years.  I mean it.  Most of the time:)

She  texted thanks and sent a thank you card that was very nice.  At the end she said ps–you’re welcome.  That made me giggle.  Maybe in another 17 she’ll send me flowers.  Right after JP Morgan hires me to manage hedge funds.

Last year I vowed that this year I would go underground (the real me, not the virtual me) for Mother’s Day.  I should have re-read my own advice.  My expectations for Mother’s Day get lower every year, but this year managed to top the previous ones as not one, but two children dissed me.  One has subsequently made excuses and tried to reconcile it all, but one has not.  The same child who, with his wife, was the subject of how to say FU with Sharpies.  Our problem child.  Our biggest problem problem child.

My morning began with checking Facebook (yes, I have a problem) and I saw that he’d posted that he is so like his dad and he wishes his dad realized it.  WTH?  In what way?  I think they’re alike in many ways, but what ways did he see?  So I messaged him.  It was something he posted at 2am, so God only knew what he meant.

I didn’t expect a response until after noon, but I heard back before 8am and it was something small to us, but I think not so small to him.  Fine enough.  I remember being twenty.  My worldview was about 2cm wide and I was about ten years more mature than our oldest son.

No mention of Mother’s Day.  Hmm.

We were looking for his sister later that day and his dad called him.  Still no mention of Mother’s Day, but we heard he was out shopping with his mother.

The whole day went by with my son, the son who has caused me to look 60 when I’m barely 40, not acknowledging me as any kind of mother.

Ouch.  I had semi-expected this, but I thought maybe later there would be some lame-ass excuses.

It’s Tuesday and no such excuses have been made.

This child has torn my heart to shreds and chewed on it with razor teeth while I watched.  So this slight was fairly minor in the big picture.

But each hurt adds another layer of scar.

My heart goes on and it will go on.

I just hope there does not come a day when the scars are so deep he can’t touch my heart anymore.

Next year I’m leaving town.  I have my husband’s pledge for this one.  Spa day, here I come!  Maybe I should book it now………

And that’s this Mother’s Day post from the step.

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