In case you’ve been in a medically induced coma, I’d like to inform you that today is Mother’s Day, at least if you’re reading me in the print paper. (If you’re reading this online, all bets are off.)
Mother’s Day has been an offficial holiday since 1914, when it was created to sell large, pricey greeting cards and keep florists in business. Just kidding. But true, right?
According to History.com, the very first Mother’s Day was sponsored by a Philadelphia department store, which learned early on that there was money to be made in the act of honoring our maternal forebears.
Apparently, the woman who founded the idea of Mother’s Day ultimately became so disgusted by its commercialization that she spent the rest of her life fighting against it, and urging people not to buy flowers, candy, cards and such. She even tried unsuccessfully to get it removed from the American calendar, where it’s celebrated each year on the second Sunday in May.
Nowadays, though, we’ve all become accustomed to every holiday being used to sell something, and even feel guilty if we don’t participate. Right?
Apropos of nothing, did you know that many other countries also celebrate the day, although the date varies. I once attended a Mother’s Day mass at a famous church in Mexico and it was so mobbed that I was driven into the confessional stall, just to escape the crush of the crowds. (Pretty much the only reason you’d ever find me in a confessional.)
It seems like most families have a particular method of celebrating Mom on her day that seldom varies from year to year.
The most expensive but least tiring way is the classic “Let’s Take Mom Out to Brunch” strategy, which only works if you have a big fat wallet and make reservations in advance.
Seriously. You could fly to Puerto Vallarta for the amount some of these places charge for a fancy buffet.
Think I’m kidding? The Mother’s Day buffet this year at the Pelican Grill in Newport Beach is $215 per person. Not counting booze, tax, tips or service charges. At this writing, you could fly to Puerto Vallarta on Jetblue and Alaska for $116.
On the plus side, you don’t have to wash dishes afterward. And Mom gets to put on her nice clothes for a change.
If you forget to make reservations, there’s always that long, long annual holiday line outside of Denny’s, where those of us without big fat wallets wait for our Sunday tables.
The variant to this is, of course, the “Make Mom breakfast in bed” scenario, which mothers both cherish and hate. They can’t help loving the sentiment, getting teary-eyed over the burnt toast and overly salty eggs made by devoted hands.
But they also know that — when they eventually emerge from the bedroom — it will be their job to clean up the hurricane-force devastation left behind in the kitchen. It can sometimes also be difficult to choke down those edible love offerings when they’ve been doused with habanero salsa or covered in black pepper, and you have to do it, because there are eyes following you like your dog does while you’re cooking hamburger. It’s good to have an emergency bottle of Tums next to the bedside table.
A friend of mine told me she bought tickets to take her young adult children to an event on Mother’s Day. Now, I do not approve of this. I will admit that I ended up funding many a Mother’s Day brunch when my kids were young, but now that they have jobs, I’m not paying for diddly squat.
They can celebrate me or not, but I’m not footing the bill. I’m happy to say they have stepped up in the last few years and treated me with generosity and kindness. This year, my daugter Curly Girl is also a mom, so we shall see how that changes things.
I even have a lovely friend who invites her family over and cooks her own Mother’s Day meal for them. Danger, danger, Will Robinson. This is such a bad idea that it makes my head hurt. What message is she sending? “I’m not worth being treated for even one day”? She doesn’t mind in the slightest, but I mind for her. Of course, she doesn’t care what I think. Few people do.
Another friend with adult children used to call me up and grieve that her sons never did anything for her on Mother’s Day. I was sympathetic, but I consider this a self-inflicted wound. It was her job to make them feel guilty when they neglected her, right from the very beginning. I’ve always been bad at spreading guilt — my daughter usually laughs at me when I try. But I will have a complete meltdown fit if I don’t get celebrated on my birthday and the second Sunday in May.
My fits can be pretty unpleasant affairs, so the kids have learned to take note. One year, they gave me nothing for my birthday. I mean, nada. So I informed them that they would also get nothing for their birthdays, and I meant it. After a year with no presents, they decided it was worth their while to pick out a gift for Mom. Even if there’s no money in the bank, gifts can be created with a little ingenuity.
Then there are the peripheral mother figures, who deserve mention and sometimes don’t get it. Keep that in mind, my friends. And also those who might be grieving this year. Give them a call and let them know you care.
And allow me to say how thrilled I am that I adopted my kids in 2001, making me an official mother. The best thing I ever did, hands down.
And then get out of my way. It’s time to open the chocolates.
Related links
The living Hell of Chuck E. Cheese
Frumpy Mom: I’m just not a party person
Frumpy Middle-aged Mom: I might get around to cleaning. Right after this nap.
Frumpy Middle-aged Mom: The deep satisfaction of watching other people clean my garage
I quit being my kids’ maid
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