Because Every Woman Has Been Some Kind of A Mother to Someone (Friday)

(Start with “Monday” if you can. If the boss comes by, just minimize, Sista, minimize.) So what were we talking about? Oh right. I was telling you how I felt entitled to celebrate Mother’s Day while I was going through fertility treatments because of all the babies I had to deal with at my job.

Mainly we were discussing the immature and irresponsible young ladies I worked with who needed my guidance and/or the toe of my shoe in the back seam of their extremely short skirts.

“What are you planning to wear for “dress down” day? That skirt without underwear?” 

“You are aware that in Customer Service, we don’t actually service the customer?”

I guess the maternal instinct just comes more naturally to some of us.

I also had an employer who was a whiner and a tantrum thrower: Going through his terrible 52’s I guess. “Where’s that paperwork? You said I could have it yesterday….You prooooooooomised. Where iiiiiiiiis it? Waaaaaaaaaa! I want my paypawok!” 

I apologize if this post is a bit of a mishmash, but there’s so much disdain I still want to share with you about Mother’s Day and here it is, Friday already. So here are some rambling thoughts. Call it stream of consciousness. Call it hormone injections that never wore off. 

If you didn’t get a Mother’s Day card this year, I truly am sorry. Your efforts to become a mother deserve a truckload of cards…

Now, please allow me to catch you up on the great literature you missed because, after all, a Mother’s Day card does say a lot.

A three page card says you paid four bucks and ticked off Mr. and Mrs. Squirrel for something with eight words on it:

“Happy Mother’s Day” (cover), “Mom” (page one), “You are” (page two) “the BEST!” (Page three). End of card and four bucks. Five bucks in Canada. I love Canada but I’ll admit I’m always grateful I don’t live there when I buy a greeting card.

A card with eight hundred words in fancy script writing says you paid four bucks to watch your mom squint, and skip every other word. (Why do you think nobody ever reads those cards out loud? If she read it aloud she couldn’t skip could she?)

Then there are the whimsical Mother’s Day cards, every single one of which has a kid’s messy room as the wind-up:

“Mom, here’s a great Mother’s Day gift just for you!” (Open card. Messy room.)

“I know it’s in here somewhere.” OR “I promise I’ll find it by the Fourth of July.” OR “I’m sorry I still haven’t found last year’s gift.” OR “Don’t feel bad. Dad’s Father’s Day gift is in here also.” OR “I think it’s in here anyway.” OR “Look! I cleaned my room” OR… please, someone, uncurl my fingers from the keyboard so I can stop. 

The point is, I suppose, what I’ve been beating into all of us all week: Mother’s Day, like most holidays is totally overrated. Some people get great joy out of holidays while probably a lot more suffer through them because of some phantom ideal of what it’s supposed to look like.

You want a Mother’s Day card? I’ll give you a Mother’s Day card.

“Mom, I took money out of your wallet every week when I was twelve.” “Just kidding! Promise to pay you back! Just Kidding!” “Happy Mother’s Day!”

“Mom, remember when I was sixteen and I told you about my boyfriend Robert?” "Happy Mother’s Day! It was Bob, your boss! Have A Great Day!”

“Mom, thanks for paying for my entire college education. I’ve decided to finish my sixth year at the University of Cancun! I even have a job lined up! I'm the alternate judge at the wet T-shirt contest during Spring break! You’re the best! Happy Mother’s Day!”

“Mom, you’re irreplaceable! That’s why I left my wife and drove right over with the three kids, two St. Bernards, and a giant U-haul! You’re number one! Happy Mother’s Day!”

Listen, I gotta go. There’s someone outside yelling my name.  I think it’s Hallmark calling.  I’ll talk with ya on Monday.