If Mother's Day is a day to honor mothers, why are mothers everywhere being duped by brunch plans? Sure, a mid-morning family meal sounds lovely, but in my five years celebrating Mother's Day as a mother myself, I've finally realized how backwards those brunch plans actually are. Don't get me wrong, I love brunch. But spending my single day of appreciation in 12 months at a restaurant with three little kids?
Each of those should-be-glorious days has begun with me (despite my husband's eager attempts to take over such tasks) wrestling my kids to wear something that doesn't look like it was picked out of the lost and found at school. Next, there's fighting them to leave the house early enough to make a reservation on time and then trying to keep them entertained in a seated position for two (plus) hours, stop them from spilling entire drinks on the floor, and ensure they actually eat the $14 eggs in front of them.
I also tried, usually without success, forcing them to smile for pictures with me that they did not want to be taking. I ended each special day frustrated that I was actually just being subjected to a heightened version of my everyday in which my kids still acted like kids and I had no Instagram-worthy photos to show for it. I call bullsh*t.
This year, I'm taking back Mother's Day. This year, the national holiday that is meant to celebrate mothers is, as a mother, my day, and I plan to spend it how I please.
Which means I've made a spa appointment for a late morning time slot. I'll have plenty of wiggle room for a prompt arrival even after I've spent an early morning in bed, eating breakfast "cooked" by my children while reading their cute scribbled cards (traditions I can get behind). I will then, at my leisure, get out of bed and get dressed and leave the house. By myself. At this point I do not care what my children are wearing for the day, or really, if they get dressed at all. Because this day is not about them.
At this point I do not care what my children are wearing for the day, or really, if they get dressed at all. Because this day is not about them.
I will sit alone in silence (or maybe with the five girlfriends who will be joining me after they hear about my brilliant plan) and sip cucumber-infused water while snacking on nuts and dried fruit. I may even hop in the steam room. Who knows where the morning will take me, really? I will relish the luxury of my treatment of choice, and bask poolside in the afterglow of being pampered. I will order lunch and I will eat it slowly, tasting each bite that I so indulgently have time to enjoy. Maybe I'll flip open a magazine or pick up a book. Probably take a dip in the heated pool. Definitely take my time showering and drying my hair with a blow dryer.
The specifics don't matter much to me. Because I will be spending the day celebrating myself, without the little monsters who made me a mother (who I love SO much).
And if you think maybe I'm disappointing anyone who wanted to celebrate me on Mother's Day, think again. My husband was, in fact, thrilled when I shared my plans. Probably because my plans take the pressure off of him to orchestrate the impossible: a tantrum-free 12 hours that don't end with someone screaming or crying. Win-win.
And, surely, my own mother, mother-in-law, grandmother, and all of the other mother figures in my life with whom I usually share a Mother's Day meal will understand, and probably even appreciate, why I've opted out of brunch this year — because they wish they'd opted out of brunch years ago, too.