Mother's Day is traditionally a drag for me, which is something I think a lot of people would say, but most of them would be kids whose reason is boredom, and for me it's because of my complicated relationship with my mother; when I was a little kid, I adored her, and when I adore someone I'm very cute about it, so she was spoiled by me making little'magazines' and signs and poems and other art projects about how much I loved her – I made these things as I sat on the couch Saturday and Sunday mornings (I lived with my dad and saw her on the weekends), waiting for her to sleep off her drinks from the night before, usually. So if that's what I did for fun on a normal weekend morning, you can imagine all the loving arts and crafts I made for her for Christmas, Birthdays and Mother's Day. When I started to think I hated her, towards the beginning of 8th grade, I was equally vocal about the hatred as I had been about the former adoration. This is really sad, and I'll always feel sorry for her for how hard it must have been when I stopped looking up to her, when I started to realize that living in fear of her moods wasn't normal and that it sucked waiting for her to wake up at noon after sleeping off her booze (though she did make me great meals when she woke up) – in elementary school, if I'd gotten to spend a school night Halloween at her house, I'm sure I would have been thrilled to get sent to school with a candy lunch the next day. However, when I spent a school night Halloween at her house in high school, it truly sucked – she wouldn't let me do my homework because she said I was supposed to be there having fun with her and when we only had candy for me to bring to school the next day for lunch, and neither of us had any money for me to buy lunch with, it was not a lunch that I enjoyed. I think the novelty of it had been worn off by my bite-sized Butterfingers and Smarties dinner the night before or my Candy Corn dessert. Anyway, on top of all this, I have a bad habit of getting overwhelmed on holidays or other exciting things and ruining them. So Mother's Day often included me telling mom I hated her.
Then there were adulthood Mother's Days where I felt sad that I wasn't a mother.
This Sunday will be my second Mother's Day as a mom, and while I love being a mom more than anything in the world (I often feel like I have to warn old friends not to assume a cynical stance about my role as a mother [at least not to my face], because I know to some of the people I grew up punk with, it seems unworthwhile -- I don't have any overarching defense to make in favor of the nuclear family, I just know about my own family) but since my son is just a baby, the onus is on my husband to make it a celebration, poor guy. It's funny though because the idea of Mother's Day (I guess) is that it's a day for Mom not to have to make the meals or go into the usual cleaning frenzy, and in my household my husband makes our meals, and we share the other household responsibilities. So when I chitchat with an acquaintance and they say "oh, is your husband going to make you a nice breakfast this Mother's Day?", answering in a pleasant yet succinct way involves pretending I have a different type of life, because in reality, my husband would make me a great breakfast any Sunday of the year if I so desired. Unfortunately I'm somewhat of a sad sack anxietyphile with a disgusted sick stomach most of the time and I feel like throwing up every morning before I have my coffee so I don't usually go in for nice breakfasts. Too many weekends spent dodging something mom'd throw at me when we'd get in a fight, I guess. You can't go home again.