M is for the Million Things She Gave Me….

Motherhood. The stuff of epic poetry.  The building blocks of psycho-analysis.  The root cause of thousands of therapist couch-hours.  The butt of jokes, the brick of cliche, even the muse for slang (Yes, Stacey’s Mom, you got it going on.  And thank you, Stifler’s Mom for giving us the term MILF). As Mother’s Day once…

Bah. And a little humbug too.

I have a confession to make. I don’t love Christmas. I want to, I really do.  I want to rejoice in the warmth of family closeness, the whiff of fresh baked biscuits and the sharp tang of pine needles.  I want to snuggle up with hot cocoa and a few rosy cheeked kids while they…