The Worst Mother Ever

Mother's Day is Sunday, for those of you who have been lucky enough to escape the constant beat of the Internet to remind you every few minutes. Sorry to ruin it for you. Having once read this blog you will have no excuse. You will have to call your mother, or something. Don't hate me.

Anyway, who's with me in joining up forces for the abolishment of all these kinds of small memorials. Can't we get rid of Mothers Day and Fathers Day and Book Month and Pastor Appreciation Day and Bus Driver Appreciation Day…I could fill up pages and pages by listing them all. But mostly I'm just talking about Mothers Day. Should there be an apostrophe? Is it Mothers' Day, or Mother's Day, or Mothers Day? They all look wrong. Wherever the apostrophe goes, let's get rid of it. Here are seven really good reasons to be rid of Mother's Day, once and for all.

1. It's always on Sunday, so it's either the only day of the year a mother can guilt her children into going to church, if she feels like going, or it's the day the whole family skips so as to be able to go out to brunch. Either way, for me, it's a work day, and I don't want to be thinking about mothers on Sunday, I want to be thinking about Jesus. So sue me.

2. Mothers, in general, aren't like fathers. They are emotionally overwrought. They walk around with piles of guilt for how greatly they have failed to be perfect. When you decide to honor them, and let's just dispense with the farce, I'm really only talking about myself here, I have no idea how you feel about yourself and whether you are constantly guilty, where was I…oh yes…when you decide to honor them, they have to stop and reflect about whether or not they deserve such an honor, which causes them to sit down and enumerate for themselves all the many failures of the week, which probably makes them cry, which then makes everyone else mad, who are trying to give them flowers.

3. And, then, there's the unavoidable roiling of the mind about what will happen if there aren't any flowers. Because of course the mother says, of course she says, “Please don't make a fuss.” It's her duty to say that. It's her duty to think about the bottom line of the checking account and the weekly budget and the fact that she Should Be Thinking About Jesus Because It's Sunday, and not about herself, so she says, “please don't make a fuss”. And because no one thinks she is a liar, they all believe her, and so, dutifully, they don't make a fuss. Then she realizes that not only is she A Bad Mother, she is A Bad Lying Mother which is even worse.

4. Then there's the inevitable thinking about your own mother. You, a mother, assuming you are a mother, which, of course, I do not assume, faced with thinking about your own terrible failings, have a moment to sit and think about the incredible sacrifice and godliness of your own mother. So then you can cry about that, because you miss her desperately and know that she would be doing a better job with your children than you are and wouldn't get behind on the laundry and would always be patient and kind. And then you can go on and think about her mother, who was totally a saint, and never even thought one evil thing, and only prayed for everybody all the time.

5. Then the mother, who is now weeping and sad, even though it is a beautiful day and all her children only wanted her to be happy, because they do love her, even though she is constantly screaming at them, then the mother stops and considers, if only very briefly, what kind of party and a good time she would like if she were the kind of mother to use those kinds of words, which of course she's not. Her mind flits around the possibility of flowers, and maybe food she doesn't have to make and clean up, and some sort of small unassuming and yet impossibly meaningful present that she doesn't even know she wants herself, yet, she only knows, when it is pressed soulfully into her hand, that it perfectly expresses the deep love of her children, for her, even though she knows that they don't really love her, but if they did, it would be amazing. But she can't think of anything she wants or needs and so she just imagines the moment and then weeps some more for lost dreams.

6. Then she realizes it's ridiculous to cry so much, for heaven's sake, and so she makes a cup of tea, and notices how filthy the kitchen cupboards are, and begins to desperately scrub them, which really makes her feel genuinely better, and is going along merrily, making peace and calm and order in the midst of emotional chaos, which is her nature and her wont. But then her husband and children walk in and find her scrubbing the kitchen. They, then, are afflicted with tragic guilt. A shouting match ensues about the proper nature of work on The Lord's Day which is also Mothers Day. General pandemonium breaks out until everyone is thoroughly angry.

7. And finally, as the day draws to a close, the poor tired lying wretched mother climbs gratefully into her bed and, like the idiot that she is, begins to surf the Internet, including Facebook and Twitter. And there, in one long devastating scroll, she discovers that the entire nation, nay, world, properly and joyfully celebrated Mother's Day, that no one else was angry and troubled and weeping, that, in fact, some mothers took up collections for the poor, single handedly ended human trafficking, sewed perfect summer clothes for their ten children, organized perfectly coordinated brunches for other mothers. At which point, you, The Worst Mother Ever, fall finally asleep, having survived Mother's Day one more time.

Happy Mothers Day Ya'll! Hope you have a super fun time. Go check out some better more interesting quick takes.