The perfect Mother's Day card...and how it's like the Holy Grail.

I've often thought that the perfect career for me would be to write for Hallmark...American Greetings, something of the sort. Because, for me, there's nothing like the feeling of writing something well, or knowing that I've expressed my thoughts exactly as I feel them.
I've also considered this career for another reason: no one who actually has this as a job seems to be getting it done. Not well, anwyay. Unless you're lucky enough to have time to shop in boutique-like card shops, you're not likely to find anything original or even pallatable out there. And yes, I'm picky. I'm really picky. But it just continues to boggle my mind each time I go to buy someone a card. I either suck it up and get something that's just close enough to what I want...or I bag the whole thing and go home and write a note myself.

Motherhood. It's likely the worst topic--or should I say, topic least likely to be effectively characterized--out there facing the card industry. I suppose if I did work for one of the aforementioned greeting card companies, I'd probably call in sick that week. Or month. I'd find a way out of the assignment.
Because it's impossible to write for someone else.

I mean, am I just too picky? Has anyone out there found the perfect line of cards for this occasion (or any other for that matter, but that's for another time)? Or worse--am I the only one who recoils at the sight of a golden, embossed foil rose on a giant card...likely accompanied by the word "mom"--printed in some over the top, loopy script...is it just me, or is a card like this actually more of an insult than it is anything else?

Recently I found myself in CVS with Benjamin, waiting for a prescription, and I realized it was the perfect chance to buy Mother's Day cards. Most times I'm out shopping we have Jonathan in tow--so I had to seize the moment. Benjamin was happy to peruse the section of musical cards--you know, the ones that play actual bits of well-known songs--which afforded me ample time to find the cards I needed.
I wound up in the same predicament as usual. I'd find the perfect card, but it would be "from son to his mom"...or for my mother in law, I'd find just the right message on a card, but dammit, if they didn't F it up by writing "you've raised me to be blah, blah, blah" at the end of the card.
Nothing ruins a message more than claiming to have been someone's child from birth.

So I made do...found a few that will work. Found, in case you're wondering, the same kind I always do for my mother in law...the one with a message I'm willing to stand behind, but I'll have to go and write a little extra at the end to really get my point across. That, and because I can't help it, I'll have to go through and write "in law" and a little smiley face next to each "mom" in the card.
And not that I mind, because both of my own moms are worth the extra effort.
But I'll tell you what...the drumroll will keep on drummin until this Sunday, when I get a card from Brian. Ok, ok...don't call me ungrateful, please. Because I can safely say that Brian knows just how much I appreciate him and the many lenghts he'll go to for me and my happiness. But...and I'm seriously giggling right now...for some reason he manages to TOTALLY biff on the Mother's Day card thing.
Every.
Year.

I'll get whatever was left at D and W on Sunday morning...with an overpriced, slightly brown and somewhat wilted rose.
Grocery store flower.
I know it well.
Sometimes, if I'm lucky, I'll get a whole dozen GSFs...for my birthday, after a rather large F up...any kind of truly special occasion that calls for such extravagance.
Oh, and P.S.? The cards at D and W are waaay overpriced ever since they switched to the Papus/Papyrus (I always get it confused...but it's funny that in once case it's a Native American pouch for babies, and in the other it's the name for paper from ancient civilizations). But anyway.

What really matters, like on all the other Hallmark holidays, is knowing you matter. That you're appreciated, loved...seen. That you're not overlooked. And so whatever card Brian manages to snag from "The Dubber" (our affectionate term for the over-priced local grocery store--actually, we call it our party store--but again, anyway...) will no doubt make me happy. As will the one my mom brings over...because let's face it, getting cards--no matter how cheesey--is fun. Just having that person recognize you means something.

As far as my boys are concerned, they needn't ever worry about finding the perfect card. Just being who they are is enough...or maybe, at the very least, they could just get teachers like Miss Sue and Miss Sarah to always have in their back pocket. Today's "Mother's Day party" at Mayflower was beyond adorable, and I was--true to form--in tears at the end. All the kids in a circle, mommies sitting behind their child, and the class singing a song called "When Mommy comes in the room"...and when they get to the part where they sing "I tell her how much I love her", Benjamin turns around and hugs me tight and says, in an uncharacteristically quiet voice, "I love you, Mommy"...it does NOT get any better than that.
Except, um, the poem with his handprint that talks about how fast he's growing up, and that one day his handprint "won't be quite so small...but rather hard to recall"...yowzers. Waterworks.

Funny how that's all I needed for Mother's Day.

And if the Holy Grail really does exist (from what Dan Brown has me thinking, it's buried somewhere under The Louvre in Paris)...it's always going to be a bit tricky to get your hands on.