Ten Reasons to Hate Mother’s Day

Matt just walked into the room and inquired, most solemnly, when Father’s Day is. Because nothing makes a holiday nicer than having to stop and think about the one that comes after.

So, I was going to do this later in the weekend, closer to the actual Sacred Moment, but the time for my annual I Hate Mother’s Day post was practically upon us anyway and so I might as well leap in three days early. Truly, it is a ‘holiday’ I could do without, and here are ten reasons why.

One
It’s always on a Sunday. Really universe? Having imposed upon us the duty to celebrate our mothers, if indeed that’s what the Day is for, you have to make it perpetually on a Sunday? It couldn’t move around and be on a Friday night and then on a Saturday and then maybe in the middle of the week like a Wednesday? Just always and forever Sunday. This is nice, of course, because more mothers than fathers are probably willing to drag their children to church through guilt, and so attendance might be marginally better, but that’s the only small blessing in a sea of otherwise Sisyphean work.

Two
That’s the problem with any holiday at all, it’s work. This is where I often feel that God, who must surely be the inventor of the very concept of the holiday (because look, there is the remnant of the word Holy in there), stuck the human person into the impossible situation of being commanded in one single moment to both work and not work. Mother’s Day is an icon of this. In order to be able to ‘have a day off’ so much work is required before and after that the poor sap always regrets the whole thing (see all posts about Christmas, Easter, Halloween, everything). The command to ‘do no work’ is the same as the command to Not Sin Ever. It is impossible and therefore a real drag. I love having extra days in the year to think about how sinful I am and how much I needed a savior. It’s my favorite.

Three
It’s absurd to have days where one single member of a household is supposed to be the center. Really, this does include birthdays which are a horrible embarrassment. I’m actually fine with everyone else having a birthday but deeply resent and dread my own. It just sets you up to consider yourself for an entire day which is truly never an enjoyable activity. I love waking up in the morning, for instance, and considering the relative merits of my own mothering. Am I good mother? Or a bad one? Or a mixture of the two? It’s a miserable way to spend the day.

Four
Children should honor their parents, of course, but this can happen in the ordinary roundabout of life where they are taught to speak respectfully and be grateful. If you’re only remembering to do it one day of the year than you’re kind of a bad mother, which makes Mother’s Day the Sheol it is anyway.

Five
It’s another miserable time to think about and miss, if she isn’t around, your own mother and grandmother and great grandmother. And, if you’re single and in some way childless, it’s a fantastic day to sit back in your pew and curse the darkness. If you’re carrying around grief over your estate, it’s delightful to intensify it for a whole day. That’s super fun.

Six
Another reason to hate Mother’s Day is because Father’s Day is so it’s opposite. The average father (and I will just generalize here) does not spend every waking moment considering his own competence. Occasionally he will stare into the blackness of his spirit and wonder if he is a Good Father or a Bad Father, but if someone gives him a cigar and says, Happy Father’s Day, he smiles broadly and is happy to enjoy the sacrifice of meat on his grill and the glass of whatever it is in his hand. He is not plagued by self doubt, too much, and certainly not when people are congratulating him for producing offspring. Not so with the mother. With each congratulation and hand drawn card she stares into the abyss of her own competence and agrees with the darkness. ‘I Am Not A Good Mother’ her soul cries as she longs for Monday.

Seven
But then she realizes, of course, that that’s ridiculous and that there are plenty of other more terrible mothers out there. She is by no means The Worst Mother. She is probably fine. If she would just stop thinking about herself it would be fine. But it’s Mother’s Day, so of course she can’t. And so the long day wears on.

Eight
Later, when church is finally over, she can get online and look at all the other mothers on Facebook and realize that she was wrong, it is not fine. Look at all those mothers with their loving children! Everyone else had a family photo taken to memorialize the day. The children are all dressed in coordinated outfits. Or, if the children look unkept it’s in a hipster ironic way that still makes her feel bad. She scrolls through the Internet comparing herself to the world and still feels terrible.

Nine
And of course, by then, you haven’t really spent time with your children, because of church and Facebook, so you can feel guilty about that too. When the children clamor to know ‘when is children’s day!?’ and you remind them that ‘every day is children’s day’ you can both rejoice that Mother’s Day is almost over and feel sad that you wasted your one single day feeling angry, sad, guilty, jealous, resentful, and tired. But then you can remember that tomorrow is Monday and you can feel that way every day of the year. Truly, there are no limits.

Ten
And finally, Mother’s Day is awful because someone is going to get on here and leave nasty comments about how stupid it is to be so neurotic, and what a stupid blog, first because what kind of jerk tries to Prevent Grace, and second, because you should feel happy because it’s your special day. In advance of these comments, I want to say a big Thank You for totally not getting it. It’s because of the humorless happiness police that we can’t have nice things.

Happy Mother’s Day Y’all!