A friend of mine invited me to a Quincinerra (a traditional Mexican celebration of a girl's fifteenth birthday) for her co-worker's God daughter on Saturday. There were mariachis, a DJ and a brass band. I had already told my kids I wanted to go to the Mexican restaurant in town for Mother's Day because they would have mariachis. So, I ended up with mariachi music twice in as many days. I only wished my Spanish wasn't beyond rusty.
At the Quincinerra, the girl danced with her father. I almost never think about mine anymore, but watching them dance nearly brought tears to my eyes. My Dad died when I was 16. When I was about ten, he would dance around the living room with me standing on his feet. Among his many jobs, he was a dance instructor at a Fred Astaire studio. I come by my love of dancing honestly.
The sting is lessoning around hearing all the Mother's Day ads (I lost my Mom in 1990 to breast cancer). Last year I invited all my girl friends who have lost their mothers out for drinks at that same Mexican restaurant. It completely slipped my mind this year. I intended it to be an annual tradition. On the bright side, perhaps my grief was not there to remind me as it was last year.
Here's a picture of me with hubby, Pat, and my three youngest kids, from left to right, Daniel, April and Wesley. The other two were unavoidably detained in Sacramento. But they made sure to call. :)