It’s “Mother’s Day” in my part of the world. I still get raised eyebrows when I claim that we don’t really do Mother’s Day in our house. It’s just… not my thing. Call it a quirk. Call me a rebel. It’s just one more anomaly to add to my CV. As I get older I get a little bolder with sticking up for what I do and don’t believe in. (And trying not to be too hypocritical about it at the same time. It’s a struggle, but I do try.)
Personally I’d rather a random and spontaneous (and slightly more frequent) display of appreciation and recognition for being ‘Mum’ than the kids doing some prescribed and commercially driven stuff that is not really ‘me’ on one day of the year. I’m not one for the usual Mother’s Day frippery – cut flowers, perfumed presents, or fluffy slippers and breakfast in bed aren’t my thing. I’ve got to the point where I don’t really expect – or want – to do anything to celebrate Mother’s Day. It might be nice if for just one day I didn’t have to nag about kids doing their jobs, but, surprise surprise, that just doesn’t seem to happen.
All that said, I was a bit annoyed that I managed to schedule myself to lead a bike ride today (with the BUG (Bicycle User’s Group) that I belong to. By the time I realised that the 10th May was Mother’s Day it was too late to back out (and how hypocritical would that have been anyway?!) I would have liked to have given myself a sleep-in, but even the ‘later than usual’ start of 8.30 meant that I was struggling out of bed before the Daddy (who could barely contain his glee when he suggested that it was “quite ironic”.)
It was a ‘Breakfast’ Ride – eat first, then ride – so I shouted myself the Big Breakfast (bacon, eggs, tomatoes, hash browns and toast). It was brought out, to my embarrassment on two plates! Nobody else had ordered it, so I had to keep using Mother’s Day as an excuse. (I didn’t eat the toast on the second plate, I promise!)
When I was asked what the rest of the family were doing while I did this ride I joked that maybe they’d have the house all spick and span by the time I got back. When that elicited peals of laughter from one older woman who was new to the club, I knew immediately that she was a mother too. Funny that!
In my rush to get out of the house I forgot my bike bottle, so I had to put in a call home. (How impressive.. the ride leader forgets to bring water!) The Daddy graciously brought it out to me; even though I’m sure he would have done so anyway, I should probably mark that one down as special treatment.
I also decided to mark down the ride as ‘time out’ from the family. It’s probably not the ‘done’ thing for mother’s day, but I wonder how many mums might just secretly wish that as a present.
As I expected, not much had happened on the home front by the time I got home – not even the kids’ rostered jobs. So much for mother’s day miracles. Still, the exercise endorphins have given me a bit more enthusiasm to tackle some of the household jobs awaiting my attention and put me in a better mood than I might have been had I slothed around in bed all morning.
Right now the Daddy is out there mowing the lawn. Looks like I can now get to the washing line (and I didn’t have to mow!) so there’s a nice present! I’m still feeling energised enough to tackle a few more of the sixty squillion jobs awaiting my attention. If I achieve just a few, I’ll call it quits on a pretty ok Mother’s Day after all.
And on the whole concept, I have a suggestion. With globalisation and all that, perhaps we mums should take a note of every Mother’s Day date in the world and insist to our families that we should make due celebrations and fuss on each and every one of those dates. Then the idea of a day in which we are shown appreciation might not smack so much of lip-service and hypocrisy. Don’t you think?