PSoTD

This seems like a pretty reasonable article about the tension in the workplace between employees who are parents and employees who are not parents, and potential perks provided to the parental class.

This sentence provides an opening for consideration, however:

But when you ask another group of dedicated employees -- those without kids -- for their take, you often get a different perspective. There is growing resentment in cubicles everywhere from workers without children who are fed up with what they perceive to be too much coddling of their parenting peers.

Parents need the help of society, and the childless should recognize that parents deserve some "perks" for parenting as part of that help. After all, it will be somebody's child that will be our doctor, that will be our policeman, that will be our mortician. Those parents do the job of raising their kids for no financial benefit - so cut them some slack, because eventually we all benefit from generations of kids raised well.

My own mother passed away in 2001, which makes this holiday a little bittersweet. A few months ago, the last few boxes I had stored from my Mother's stuff were shipped out here (I had stored them at my mother-in-law's) and last night my wife and I went through them. Old papers my Mom had kept of mine from first through third grades - including old Valentines. Old family photos. Two now-treasured coffee mugs that I remember were our "hot chocolate" cups. Some of this stuff was packed away over a decade before she died (newspaper packing gave that away), and she had written my name on the box. It was really cool, and a great way to remember my Mom this weekend.

Hopefully you have a great day whether you're a mother or not, but here's a few other posts about the day for your reading...

Mothers Day is a big day for card makers and ecard sites. Do ecards hold the same value to the receiving person as a real card?

Some favorite TV Moms.

Somebody wrote a Message for Husbands this Mothers Day Weekend.

Are there 3 stages of Mothers Day?

In honor of Mother's Day, why not share a piece written by the co-authors of the book Babyproofing Your Marriage...

Sadly, mothers in the U.S. military are stressed, poorly paid and need more help caring for their children.

What better year than 2007 to remember the origin of Mothers Day? Or, to read the initial 1870 Mothers Day Proclamation by Julia Ward Howe?

And finally: where would today be without some Mothers Day Trivia from Believe It or Not Records.

There's a state of anxiety - an impatient gnawing of readiness for favorable resolution - that occurs before panic. Fortunately, most of us don't deal with that kind of anxiety regularly.

About a week ago, our 6-year-old's t-ball game came to an end and the team went to the snack bar for their aftergame treat. As we were waiting in line, several of us noticed a young woman crying and talking to another woman. In those situations, you tend to look, then once you realize you're intruding on a private moment in a public place, you look away. But her face was scared, and then another adult asked

"What kind of shirt was he wearing?"

and almost immediately every adult was drawn towards her. Her brother, who she was supposed to pick up at the ballfields, could not be found, and hadn't been seen for perhap a half an hour. Immediately parents and older kids went walking in every direction to see if the boy could be found. My wife and son went to the car so he could eat, my older daughter and myself went to look.

The things that go through your mind during a time like this builds your anxiety. You're listening for any "small boy" sounds, which, of course, the ballpark still had plenty of. There was a father and son, about seven, that were practicing batting on one of the fields, and I'm sure the boy was asked his name at least two dozen times, even with his father pitching to him. You start looking in odd places - portapotties and in the unlocked ballfield equipment lockers. You start wondering if there's anybody to find in the first place - was the boy still around? Or worse.

And you start thinking about how you would be if your own child was the one missing. It's not a thought you want to visit for very long, and regardless of how anxious I was while we were looking, it must be nothing compared to the anxiety if it is your own family involved.

There were at least 100 people looking at the ballparks for a good 20-30 minutes, I think. The immediacy of the community to come to the aid of someone possibly in trouble is about the only thing you can feel good during a situation like this. The police came, the gates to the parking lot were locked, and every car that left the ballpark was checked before they left.

The loudspeakers were eventually turned on to give progress reports, and eventually a very good one came through - the little boy had been taken home by his mother, and there had been a miscommunication between mother and daughter. Relief can be palpable, and you could feel it in the air and see it on the faces of people.

Still, as a parent, the whole episode makes you pull your kids a little closer in, at least it did for me. You recognize how vulnerable kids can be at those ballfields - or anywhere else, for that matter. Today, even an honest mistake can lead to a loss of innocence - or ignorance - which I suppose is a good thing.

A few days ago, our ten year old daughter gave me the "thumbs up" sign. Showing my age, I said, "Hey Fonzie".

"What?"

Of course. So I had to ask, "Do you know what Fonzie is?"

And, of course, being 10, she didn't.

I tried to find a YouTube video which did him justice to show her. After looking around, I figure this covers both Fonzie and Mork at the same time, and I'm sure she'll ask in a somewhat incredulous voice, "did you really watch this?"

No comment.

A zillion years ago, I was a busboy/dishwasher at a steakhouse - Cactus Jack's, in Livermore, California. (Don't bother to google it, it's long gone) I worked there my senior year of high school, with the sole intention of earning enough money to buy a clunker car (which I did). But by March, the glory and the joy of bussing and cleaning other people's dirty dishes began to run short for me, and in late April, I gave notice.

One of my goals of giving notice at that point was to avoid working Mother's Day. Since I had started there, I had heard horror stories of years past - it was the busiest day of the year, everyone worked eight hours (OMG!), and every table was full from opening until finish, with people waiting and getting cranky, and complaining to wait staff who complained to management who would kick the asses of bussers and dishwashers to get everything turned over immediately.

Alas, too late. "I really need you on Mother's Day," sighed Norm the manager, and I felt guilty and gave in. Doomed. It would be my last day at Cactus Jack's.

The Sunday shift began at 8 to set up for brunch, which began at 8:30 AM. I was scheduled for 8 AM to 4 PM - like almost everyone else that worked at Cactus Jack's. By the time the doors opened, there was a line. We NEVER had that. Still, the tables didn't fill until about 9:30, but by that point we were in a bussing frenzy, needing every spare glass and fork back as soon as possible, to wash for the next meals. People were stacking up. The booths were taking too long to empty out - our booths were large and could comfortably hold up to 8 people, and people take longer when they have that sense of privacy. Bus bus bus, trade off, wash wash wash. Falling behind in changing the traps of the steam washer, falling behind in cleaning all the glassware because the traps had to be changed, falling behind, period, until things slowed up.

Anything that creates a need for individual rather than process cleanup throws everything into the lurch. A child spilling a bowl of cereal, a teenager putting cherry tomatos into the sugar dispenser, somebody clogging a toilet with whatever - this kind of thing temporarily takes a cog out of the big restaurant machine, and everything suffers. If service is uncharacteristically slow at a restaurant, chances are has happened to throw a cog. It happens on Mother's Day as well. I remember that day that some kid hid pieces of chewed up meat under their booth seats, and actually between the cushions. It slowed up the process.

Before we knew it, it was 3:30 PM. None of us had eaten, and the restaurant was still busy but not at capacity, finally. Evening shift began filtering in, and we started getting meals. At 4, Norm told me I could punch out and order a steak - my farewell dinner. I ordered the New York with the baked potato, salad and root beer, and ate alone at a table in the back, tired.

It was Mother's Day, and I wouldn't be having a meal with my Mom that day. And that's the way it is for many in food service. It used to be known as the busiest day of the year in the restaurant business, and I'm sure that hasn't changed much since the 1970s. Working in a restaurant on Mother's Day means busting your ass and dealing with lots of people who expect the best of service. So, if you go out to dinner that day, remember that these folks may be celebrating Mother's Day as well, they may be mothers or missing their mothers or planning to see their mothers later. Appreciate the day, and appreciate the service, and hopefully even those that have to work their tails off that day will enjoy it later.