What I realized is that Mother's Day is an awesome day for kids, but a terrible day for moms. Which pretty much makes this "special" day just like every other day of the year for moms.
Let me explain. I have the most awesome mom around, so as her kid, Mother's Day really is a holiday. I love to spoil my mom, to make her feel special, because she deserves and appreciates it. That part of Mother's Day was great, and a total success--I got to show and tell my mom just how amazing she is, and I loved that.
But as a mom, I dread this "holiday." This must be how married women feel on Valentine's Day--a sense of excitement building up to the day, the celebration of an amazing relationship. What will he plan? What will he do? Will I be pampered, showered with love, appreciated for my hard work and continual support? Will I be as lucky and happy, as spoiled and well-treated, as all the other moms on Facebook are?
And the answer is...no. Just like Valentine's Day, the guy (or the kid) doesn't bring it. Or brings something worse than loving words--he brings a bad attitude. He puts me up on a motherly pedestal just so he can kick me right off.
It's not that I want material gifts--like other moms, I just want a little effort, an acknowledgement or expression of love. A home-made card would go a loooooooong way--that would make my whole day. But effort, apparently, is not what men--or baby-men, in this case--are good at.
Case in point, here's what I got for Mother's Day this year:
- A haircut (treated myself--yay, me!)
- A poke in the eye (four pokes, actually, from my overzealous optometrist).
- A full day of helping my ADHD son "write" his science report (more painful than the eye pokes).
- A new garden hose (I actually did ask for this one!)
- Attitude from said son at the farmer's market, because he wanted to carry kettle corn and not the basket of fruits and veggies. (Oh, and add a dash of mortification when a vendor who witnessed the whole scene asked Mark, "What day is it?" Yeah, got it, you're trying to help, guy, but now I'm even more embarrassed!)
- A 10-minute time out while I stewed in the car waiting for the kid to show up. (I'm pretty sure I was justified in leaving him and his bad attitude at the farmer's market--I only waited because I didn't want to come back)
- A whole lot of attitude from my brother who hosted Mother's Day brunch but apparently did not want to (he yelled at me about two different dogs--one of them his! NEWSFLASH: I don't even own a dog!)
- More attitude from my son, who did not want to get out of the hot tub, even though it was sending his blood sugar precariously low.
- An admonition from a party guest on why my diabetic son shouldn't eat sugar (even though it was the cure for the aforementioned LOW blood sugar).
- MORE attitude from my dearly beloved son when I asked him to clean up the yard clippings that afternoon, as previously agreed upon.
All of which left me feeling less than warm and fuzzy by the end of the day. I felt maternal all right, but more in the "I'm getting a belt to whoop somebody's butt" sense than in the "basking in love" one.
I finally gave up, and retired to my couch to watch American gypsy weddings with a handful of jellybeans. This day felt a lot like Christmas, and to give you an idea of how Christmas feels, we have a saying in our family--"It's not Christmas until Heather cries."
Then, just when I thought I couldn't get any grumpier, Mark appeared, and happily asked if I was enjoying my Mother's Day.
"No," I snapped.
He looked genuinely surprised.
"What part should I enjoy?" I asked. "The part where my brother was a jerk, the part where you whined and gave me attitude, or the part where you ignored me and the front yard clippings?"
His smile disappeared, and he slunk off to his room. I didn't think I could feel any worse, but suddenly, yelling at my only child on Mother's Day, I did. No wonder no one wanted to celebrate me on this day.
Mark was quiet for so long that I finally checked in on him. He was no longer pouting--he was napping peacefully on his bed. I guess I should be glad someone enjoyed the afternoon.
"I don't know what you expected," my friend Kelley said later, after I recounted my no good, horrible day. "Mother's Day is always a bust for you."
"I know," I said. "I keep thinking this will be the year it changes. My bar is set so low now that I don't even want displays of affection--I just want a day where no one's whining, complaining or being rude to me. Even for five minutes!"
But I guess that's the irony of the job. You don't become a mom because it's easy or appreciated--there's no instant glory in it. You work hard, nurture and care for everyone else and it never stops, not even on Mother's Day.
"I give up," I told Kelley. "Next year, I'm celebrating on my own. I'm running away to a spa day. I'll pamper myself!"
Kelley laughed, and said, "There you go!" She agreed it was a fine idea, even if it is diametrically opposed to the whole notion of Mother's Day.
But maybe it's not...the day is devoted to celebrating moms, not necessarily to spending it with kids. I don't think you can actually do both things at once, so next year, I'm not even gonna try.
If my kid asks where I am, can someone please tell him I'll be at the spa? Thanks!
No comments:
Post a Comment