Competitive Mother’s Day Gloating Races

Fantasmic!_Evil_Queen

This is truly one of the most annoying “holidays” of the year. A day of forced gift-giving, going out to dinner, and buying the appropriate greeting card for people who only tolerate each other because they are related. Children with good relationships with their mother don’t need this day, because they already do these things on a regular basis, for no made-up reason. So this is clearly aimed at the dysfunctional among us.

This year’s events include:

The “I’m Owed Something for the Long Haul Marathon”

This business of buying a card for my mother is a grueling warm-up workout and it stresses me out every year. Greeting card makers have a card for every conceivable card recipient except for the “motherhood really wasn’t her thing” candidates. One rejected ridiculous verse after another, until finally, a generic “have a lovely day” is pulled from the back of the stack. Hallmark needs to step up it’s sponsorship of this circus.

Next up is the “Frenemy Slap-Dash”

“How was your mother’s day?”
“Did you have a nice mother’s day?”
“Did you talk to your daughter/son/mother on mother’s day?”

What if the answer is “sad”, “no”, and “no”? So awkward, and the people asking could not possibly care less. They just want to tell you how fabulous their day was. And believe me, the more fantastic it sounds, the more likely it is, indeed, fantasy.

“Oh my girls never fail to make me feel like a queen on mother’s day. They did this and they said that and we went there and I just baaaaasked in their adulation. ”

So what? Why do you think I care?

I have learned to just say, “my daughter sent me a fabulous bottle of wine.” Frenemy nods, knowingly, because I am reputed to “know something” about wine. Also, my daughter is in New York and I am not, so I can bypass the “we went there” leg of the relay. But she reminds me two more times that her girls crowned her with queendom. I take my leave before I crown her with something else.

Then there is the “Wives’ Half-Assed Mile”

“We had dinner at Mediocre Meals and More. Did your hubby take you out to dinner?”

“No, we did not go out to dinner. I am not his mother.”

“Oh. Well, that’s too bad.”

“No, it is not too bad. I do not want to go out to dinner on a day when everyone who owes a “duty” dinner to their mother or wife is out, clogging the restaurants, making service slow and food cold. I don’t like crowds.”

“Ok, I get it. No problem.” Then I get the Eyeroll. So I sigh and just go ahead and cave to pressure.

“We stayed in. Coe grilled steaks and we drank the fabulous wine our daughter sent me. She never fails to make me feel like a queen on mother’s day.”

Are you happy now?

I actually am enjoying a lovely Pinot Noir given to me by my daughter. But “we drank” really means “I drank”, although I did show Coe the bottle. And he has never grilled a steak in his life. That part was complete literary license.

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