(Start with Monday if you can. If you can't, don't worry. You'll just be hopelessly lost forever.) So what were we talking about? Oh right. We were discussing how Mother’s Day began as a beautiful annual Spring ritual to worship Mother Earth, evolved into a tribute to the many attributes of women and has, after centuries, culminated in the pancake house visit we know today.
If you can’t ignore the idiocy of that which is Mother’s Day altogether, consider this: The holiday is for you too. Even if you don’t have kids (yet), I guarantee you’ve still done plenty of mothering in your time.
When I was in my mid-thirties (back when we were still worshipping Mother Earth), I worked with girls in their late teens and early twenties. It wasn’t a counseling center. Not officially. Officially, it was a limousine company. I literally worked with them.
I did customer service and in between clients, practiced social work without a license. I may not have been their biological mothers, but I spent many hours a week nurturing them in the same way my Mom nurtured me:
“Why are you still dating that loser? You must be a moron. Only a moron would date a loser.”
“Don’t you think those pants are a little tight? I can see what you had for breakfast. Don’t you dare leave this office looking like that!”
“You think this is funny? Don’t make me come over there and knock you out of your cubicle!”
“You were fifteen minutes late coming back from lunch. Did you even once consider that I might not be able to sleep at my desk because I’m up worrying?”
“I told you you should have gone to college. See what happens to people who are uneducated? They work here.”
“Look at this desk. It’s a pigsty. Never you mind about the nine-layer pile of gas receipts, fast food napkins/coasters and candy wrappers on my desk young lady. Do as I say not as I do.”
Did I overstep my boundaries as their coworker when I put parental controls on the company computers? I think not. You see what I had to deal with.
Listen I gotta go. I have to measure the grass. We have up until four and a half feet before the housing association reports us to the county.