I’ve given a lot of thought to Mother’s Day these past few weeks. It’s kind of hard not to, what with the dozens of promotional emails flooding my inbox, that great article in the Spring issue of Bitch magazine, and the neverending TV commercials (each of which carry a very different and unique message – “Don’t just give mom the same ol’ same ol’! Give her __[insert merchant’s product here]__”
But here’s the thing. And I know this is going to be very controversial, and I know a lot of you are probably about to protest “well I NEVER!” and clutch your pearls and swoon. But I’m not sorry.
So here we go: I think Mother’s Day is highly overrated.
I mean, sure, it’s fine for kids – give Mom a handmade card or a pretty picture or some dandelions picked from the lawn. But we’re not kids anymore, are we? As adults, don’t you think that we’ve each “done our time” appreciating our moms?
Not to mention, what do the *mothers* do in all this? Really, being the parent of a full-grown adult is easy, isn’t it? The first 18-22 years are the toughest, and from then on out (assuming you’ve done your job well), it’s smooth sailing. Mothers of adults don’t really *do* anything, ergo they don’t really *deserve* anything. Or at least, that’s the way I see it.
Think about it – what has my mom done lately that’s at all exceptional? It has been nearly a quarter-century since she’s had to clean a messy bottom. It has been years since she’s had to pretend to love the gift of a misshapen play-doh bowl or shaky, soaking watercolor drawing. I can’t remember the last time I peeled off an oversized coat, hat, gloves, and scarf for her to lug through a school event or shopping mall. It’s been nearly ten years since the mad dash to a 5:30 violin lesson. Heck, the last time I had a flu – during a visit to her house – she yelled into the bathroom “I’m not coming in there if you’re still puking!”
Clearly – in her eyes and in mine – Mom’s job is through.
Quiet your protests, readers! I have proof. As a genuine bona-fide full grown adult, what have I asked my mom to do for me lately?
~I certainly haven’t asked her to fuel my yarn habit.
~It’s been ages (at least two or three days) since I called her, bitching about Jeff/pets/house/coworkers/life-in-general, only to receive reassurance and problem-solving solutions.
~I can barely remember the last time she gave me any of her jewelry designs, free of charge, under the guise of “marketing” or “promotional materials”.
~I *never* ask for advice anymore, especially not about removing ravioli stains from Jeff’s ties, or if I should buy a certain dress even though it’s so expensive, or what I should do about work drama, or how to make rosemary chicken.
~She doesn’t keep track of the items on my always-changing mental list of “antique/thrifty stuff to be on the lookout for” and never locates any of the pretty, fun stuff for me.
~And even here, on my blog – I never trouble her with reading it (I certainly don’t text her every day “be sure to read my blog!” ) and I’m certainly not disappointed if she doesn’t comment on every post.
~Most of all, I would certainly never expect her to get my dry sense of humor. That’s just not how Mom is. She doesn’t get it, and she doesn’t care.
Clearly, for all practical purposes, my mom’s job is finished. Therefore, I certainly won’t be calling her today. Or bringing a pan of cinnamon rolls next time I come to Kansas City. Or knitting her anything else ever again. I especially can’t even be troubled to write one blog post dedicated to her.
What’s the point? She won’t read it anyway.
So to all you real mothers – Happy Mother’s Day! To you half-assed “moms” of adult “kids” – meh. Don’t expect too much. Maybe we’ll send you a card at Christmas.