And writer Liz Fraser says… “this time it’s going to be all about me!”
“This year, on Mother’s Day, I dream of being as far away as possible. Preferably on a different continent, being fed peeled grapes by a semi-clad man, as a warm sea laps at my feet — without a piece of Lego, a soccer ball or a sheet of maths homework in sight.
Because surely, if this is the ONE day of the year that mothers are allowed to relax, be pampered and spoiled, it should also be the ONE day that they don’t have their offspring around, as a reminder of why they are so shattered in the first place.
Indeed, Mother’s Day should be given a complete overhaul and come back with a new name — Not Being A Mother Day. Imagine what it would be like if every mother were given an entire day to herself just to feel like a human being again.
Instead, for most of us, Mother’s Day begins with the shriek of children running into the bedroom at silly-o’clock, carrying a tray of food we don’t want. As we pick away gingerly at a slice of burnt toast and a cup of cold tea, we take evasive action from the homemade cards being thrown at us while at the same time trying to look appreciative of the monumental effort that has gone into the preparation.
The fact that we can’t open our eyes yet, and would prefer not to have crumbs embedded in our bedsheets, doesn’t remotely register with them. ‘Mommy, Mommy!!! Happy Mother’s Day!! Look! We’ve woken you up to remind you that you’re a Mommy!! Yayyyyy!!!’
The day then tends to deteriorate from there, with a sequence of increasingly unpleasant, unwanted activities that we are supposed to love — these can include anything from making pancakes (the mess!), to going for a Nice Long Walk (spoiler alert — you’ll have to carry the kids 2 minutes after setting out), or enduring a homemade facial (the pain!).
Don’t get me wrong, I love my children dearly and I do enjoy their excitement on Mother’s Day. And I genuinely appreciate their efforts at making me feel special for a whole 24 hours. I’ve kept all their cards and little presents over the years, and there are some very special memories in there – including the time when my 7-year-old decided to give my hair a ‘special trim’. (It had almost grown back in time for the following Mother’s Day.)
But I can’t help feeling that the day is rather more for them, than for us…
A day for them to show how much they love us, as a way of making up for the other 364 days when they’re spilling cereal on the floor, arguing over who sits in the front of the car and occupying the bathroom for hours on end. As if being responsible for destroying our stomach muscles on the day they were born, wasn’t more than enough love already.
I’ve done Mother’s Day a lot — 19 times, to be precise. And this year, my plan is to spend it alone. In complete solitude. Not a small person to be seen. I’ll be engulfed in a huge pile of glossy magazines, a bottle of bubbles and a bunch of grapes. And if I have my way, I’ll also be attended to by that semi-clad gentleman to peel them for me…”
What do you think? Would you rather be with your kids or have a day to yourself on Mother’s Day?