I’m one week into May. Did you know that May is a nightmare month for those of with dreading-disorder? Mother’s Day, prom, graduations, last day of school, first day of summer, the list goes on and on and on. May is a veritable cornucopia of activity for the socially inclined.
For those of us who prefer to sit in the back yard hammock (I don’t have one, but Mother’s Day is this weekend, Eric) with a good book and a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, these first few weeks of May can feel a tad bit full which is a nice way of saying like a cluster fuck.
The Annual Women of the Parish Celebration (formerly Mother/Daughter banquet) was Wednesday evening. My sister, sister-in-law, my daughters, and I attended with my mother who is a bit of a social butterfly and on the event’s committee. While Mom modeled her grandmother’s apron waving at folks as she walked up the center aisle of church–one of a group of mothers and daughters who modeled old aprons, I scanned the program to make sure that this year’s event didn’t include any icky pro-life materials (it didn’t).
I’ve never grooved to the whole virginal/vessel/paragon/church woman bit that the “fathers” of the church try to perpetuate. So the Mother/Daughter event tends to rub me the wrong way. But like I said, my mom likes it, and she is one of the great loves of my life, so I go along and offer the same enjoyable experience to my own daughters.
Here they are enjoying their fried chicken.