Yes, Today Is All About Me (and what's wrong with that?)

I announced last night to my almost 15-year-old son D. that I had great plans for us for Mother’s Day.

“There is something we are going to do together tomorrow, and we are going to have a lot of fun, and we are going to do it without a single complaint from you,” I said.

D. looked at me. “What is it?”

“We are going to the movies, and we are going to see We Bought a Zoo.

He groaned. I’ve been asking D. to go see this movie with me for about three months now. He never wants to go—he doesn’t want to go to the movies in general with his mother—he would much rather play Xbox Live with his buddies.

Fortunately—or unfortunately for him maybe—We Bought a Zoo still running at our old-run local theater. I love this place, because I greatly respect its fight to stay alive against the newer, multiplex stadium-seat monstrosity down the road. This theater is where my mother and I took D. to see his first-ever movie, Winnie the Pooh. I remember having to hold down his seat with my arm because he kept getting folded up in it. I saw some classics there—Jurassic Park, and Forrest Gump, and we saw his first Harry Potter movie there, too. In fact, I probably saw Thelma and Louise at this cinema, and if he doesn’t respond to my request just right, I might start feeling rebellious and take off in a convertible somewhere.

“Can we see The Avengers instead?” he asked.

“Are you kidding me?” I repied. I gave D. my most incredulous look. In fact, if my face were analyzed for micro expressions, the FBI would be fascinated by the twitch, sneer, and eyebrow lift combo. They might even dedicate it to mothers everywhere and name it after us. My expression revealed what I was thinking: “What happened to no complaining?”; “Really, on Mother’s Day?” and “Are you seriously my kid?”

“Okaaaaayyyy,” D. said. He could tell this wasn’t a battle worth fighting for.

Of course, I still had to remind him this morning that it was Mother’s Day. I think he was trying to forget. He’s probably worried about running into some friends at the theater, who he is sure will be going to see Project X and he’ll have to say he is going to see We Bought a Zoo. 

The seriousness of this possibility made him give it one more shot this morning. “How about you go see We Bought a Zoo and I go see something else?”

“Absolutely not,” I said. Just once, I have to win.

I think there should be more than just one day a year dedicated to mothers. For all the trauma, suffering, and selflessness, don’t we deserve at least a fortnight?

If he says one more peep about going to this movie today, no popcorn for him.