i wish
Mothers Day
Want to know why I dislike Mothers Day? We were in a cafe, crowded against the wall by a spreading table of one family, all hunched over in their chairs: grandfather, husband, brother, wife, and two small blonde girl children. Mother sat between her two children. Their demand on her attention was constant. “Oh, that’s lovely, now why don’t you draw me a great big house where all those people can live?” The men talked amongst themselves, playing a game of cards.
Mother was not engaged with the card game, she was busy mothering.
Lunch arrived. A plate was set down before each adult: big breakfast, steak and chips, eggs benedict, big breakfast. The mother divided her breakfast in three. Clean white plates were set either side of her for the girls and she had to ask the smaller daughter to keep her fingers out of the eggs as she parsed and divided a great mound of bacon. Her enormously fat husband and groovy dad and quiet, spare-spoken brother tucked in. Just as the mother had finished dividing her breakfast the littler girl wanted the toilet. All three females got up and headed out back.
We had finished our coffees. We got up to go. At the doorway I doubled back. Three men, oblivious, satisfied, stuffing their faces. “Guys,” I said, spreading my hands, striving for humour. “How come Mum is doing all the parenting – even on Mothers Day?”
They crouched into chuckles. A knowing guffaw from the husband, who looked up and said, “Aw, but…. she had two hours lying in bed this morning, the kids brought her a cuppa tea.” I lit my fury with the fat of his land. He just looked so pleased with himself, so well-fed. His wife had stayed slender and groomed herself, even as she produced offspring for his lineage. “Oho!” I said. “Two whole hours! Out of 365 days! You’re right, you’re not sexist at all. But hey, better watch out she doesn’t get used to that, right.”
He smirked. He knows the world tilts his way. I put my hand on his plump shoulder. “Take care of your lovely lady, dude.” To no avail, no doubt. I wish I had spoken to the mother instead. I wish I didn’t live in a consuming culture where we can just buy things to make up for all we don’t do, make room for, allow, feed, feel. Mothers Day – like Earth Day – if you’re serious, why not make it every day.
12 comments on “Mothers Day”
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Thank you very much for sharing this on, Evan x
Sounds like a normal mother’s day to me… though this year I have had phone calls from four of my scattered chilren… it would be nice to hear from the other two, but even if I don’t I’ll make excuses for them… they’re busy, otherwise occupied or happy enough and “grown up” enough not to need me. I still love them.
Jane, your six are lucky to have you. I see how hard you work to leave them the space they need and still be there when they need you.
it is awful because it is artificial. having a designated day where one is expected to make a gesture of love towards a parent denies the right of a person to fell ambivalent about a parent, yet it also destroys to chance to display genuine affection. If you buy her flowers, a card, a bottle of perfume or bubbly, make her breakfast or take her to lunch (most of the standard things) it will not stand out amongst the actions of others who may not give a toss about their Mum but do the “traditional” thing anyway.
May your displays of affection towards your mother be thoughtful, frequent and sometimes spontaneous.
Hey Cathoel Jorss, please see my wall about this. :)
Those are gallant wishes, Brendan, generously expressed. Yes I agree. It’s the imposed quality that scalds. And one dislikes being put in the position of seeming not to care, or even hurting someone, by refusing to submit to the great annual buy-up. I always feel distressed at how much landfill is created by a Day like this.
I feel so, so angry at that man; those men – at that table! I’m so glad to read someone’s words (and actions) standing up for that mother! They don’t deserve her!
It’s a shame your wonderful sarcasm was lost on that overfed excuse for a father figure. Good on you for trying.
Oh, isn’t the smugness intolerable, Christine! The fakeness of it all…. they procure for themselves a nice comfy club visit, complete with cards and gout-inducing platters of food, she caters, and she’s supposed to feel grateful for it. They might as well have left her at home to mind the kids.
I tried at the time to smelt my fury into humour and warmth so as to reach them, but in fact (as my companion, standing twiddling his thumbs behind me while I tackled them, pointed out) was ropeable.
That’s an interesting post, Nicky, thanks for alerting me to it. I heard from a German the other day that mothers day (in that country at least) was invented by Hitler, as an expression of his suffocating sentimentality about idealised family life. I wonder which is the case. Maybe both.
:) :)
AAARRGGHH! Yes! I’m sure if I’d been there – ie, been in your shoes – I’d have felt so angry that I’d have been unable to approach them at all and unable to speak. I’d have felt like I might explode with rage!