There’s no easy way to say this: Mother’s Day celebrations irk me. There, I said it.
Don’t get me wrong, I see your baby pictures with your ma, and it’s fucking adorable. I see your clever campaign lines and instantly feel envious of the writing team (in a good way). However, the celebration of Mother’s Day seems to be centered solely on what mothers do for us — rather than them. A tad bit selfish, really, no?
The singular lens on motherhood focuses on everything she does for her progeny (and woe, everything she doesn’t do, as people frequently remind you). But in celebrating motherhood, the world forgets to truly see them, as do we well-meaning, loving children. They are also, in various degrees, irrational, passionate, lazy, careless, hilarious, distracted, and anxious. Mothers are also lovers, dreamers, sloths, silly-billies, and troublemakers.
Celebrate Mother’s Day, celebrate Mother’s Week, Month, Quarter, whatever — but I hope you truly see them. Understand that your relationship is not solely defined by their sacrifice and unconditional love for you. Across time, you can also be friends, opponents, co-conspirators, strangers, and confidants. The idea lacks the simple satisfaction of succinctly defining our relationship with mothers, but hey, what’s life without a few warts and laughs?
Ending this with a nod to some absolute gems I’ve picked up from my mothership (no one tell her, please):
Why make pickle when other people (pretty sure she meant brands) already sell it in bottles?
The house must always have room for more books and papers (an undefined quantity for the unforeseeable future).
Ironed clothes are overrated.
These ideas may not seem life-changing to you, but I can vouch for the fact that they let me embrace (actually slide into) my own style of mothering with more kindness and imperfection. So I guess, thanks, Ma :)
