The Giving Contest: Mother’s Day Edition

Saturday afternoon, still struggling to select the perfect Mother's Day gift, I gathered Lizzy and Caroline into the car and we headed off to the store. Seeking some input, I asked Lizzy what she thought we should get for Grandma McClellan—flowers, candy, a card?

All three, suggested the little one, always eager to spend my money. The candy, she insisted, would be a particularly good gift, because when Lizzy goes to visit, maybe Grandma would share some with her.

So it was that candy, flowers, and a card were added to the shopping list, and I despaired at my lack of originality. I consoled myself with a resolve to write a poem for the card.

Later that evening, my hands maneuvering scissors to clip flower stems and insert them in fresh water, I mentioned my flower-hunting efforts to Christine. Mama loves gerbera daisies, and I had set out with a hope of finding a few. The store to which I ventured at that late hour, however, had none. Knowing the sentiment is more important than the actual species of flower and also remembering that someone (likely my brother Matt) would have a nice spread of gerberas, I opted for variety: a pre-arranged generic-grocery-store bouquet of spring flowers.

Upon hearing my tale, Christine piped up from the kitchen table. "You know it won't compare to Matt's gift, anyway."

Sigh.

I don't know where Matt got this gift for gifts. I don't recall him expressing any particular originality in gift-giving when he was younger, but in recent years, his gifts outshine all others. He comes up with the most creative, interesting, enjoyable, and perfectly selected presents for my parents. It is always with a bit of foreboding that I attend a birthday or Christmas or parental-holiday event where gifts will be opened. My gift, about which my little brain has struggled for hours, always looks so shabby in comparison to what Matt unveils.

The problem is exacerbated by Matt's distance. For the last eight years or so he has lived at least two states away, and his gifts, therefore, have the air of divine bestowal. When we arrive at the house with our meager offering in tow, his gift is already there, usually gloriously displayed or gleefully in use . . . seemingly having appeared through supernatural means. Three days earlier. (Thus at least 24 hours before I had ventured into a store to make my purchase.)

By the time I had finished clipping flower stems Saturday night, my mind had run this course, and I was downright depressed about my gift . . . half tempted to give it to Lizzy and tell my mom that Matt's gift is certainly good enough to represent our collective love. Maybe I could even call Matt with a request to have my name added to the card. But of course, it was Saturday night. Matt would have sent his gift days ago.

Sunday afternoon, we arrived at Mama's house and shared our colorful—if wimpy—bunch of flowers. They were, of course, received graciously and warmly, as were the candies (Almond Roca, her favorite), which she promptly shared with us (Lizzy got two). As she opened the candy in the kitchen, I spied a delicate round vase filled with 14 gerbera daisies. I soon learned—not without a touch of envy—that they had been delivered Friday with a note from Matt disclosing the name they have chosen for their forthcoming child (Finley).

As sheepish as I felt about my gift, my mother betrayed no disappointment. She enjoyed the poem, which Lizzy helped write (note the first rhyme, in particular):

We love you Grandma,
You are so nice,
You always help us,
And you're bigger than mice.

You take care of Lizzy
and sweet Caroline.
You're more beautiful than roses
that grow on the vine.


Anyway . . . congratulations, Matt, on both the name, and the victory in the giving war. I give up. Maybe I'll send you a white flag with a gerbera daisy on it to make the surrender complete. :)

By the way, while at Mama's house, she showed us an electronic Mother's Day card showing two little characters who were saying thanks a million (times) to their mother. They had been monitoring the card on their computer for three hours and the characters had just gotten to 100,000. They were going to leave it going until they reached a million.

An e-mail note yesterday revealed that they got to 1 million in 24 hours . . . and they kept going. (To see the card, go to this site and click on "A Million Thanks for Mom.")

Someday I need to get high-speed Internet at home so I can do important things like that.