On Mother's Day...

Like so many children, I spent year after year and countless hours making awkward crafts and coming up with new and improved ways to “pamper” my Mom each Mother’s Day, when all the while I had no idea it could have been so simple: leave the poor woman alone! Of course at the time, I couldn’t really appreciate the significance of what I was celebrating, but now that I’ve been raising two boys for the last five and a half years, it’s abundantly clear. So thank you, Mom, and let me be the first to apologize for not ever figuring out that all you really needed was a break. In order to avoid the same fate, I’ve written the following letter. Moms, feel free to modify for your own purposes if necessary.

Dear Kids,

It’s Mother’s Day, and I have a little request, but before I get to that, I want you to know…I love the clumsy perfection of the Mother’s Day cards you churn out. I love that your Dad makes valiant attempts to let me sleep in despite you two little monkeys who don’t understand the meaning of “inside voice.” I love that you help Dad as he’s dishing up my favorite special occasion breakfast—Honeymoon French Toast — complete with a garnish of fresh strawberries expertly chopped and splayed with the stem still on. I love that your Dad couples that same breakfast with yummy, steaming coffee and you all make a very big show of delivering the end results to me while I’m still in bed. Jack, I especially love that you want to spend all day hanging out with me and always attempt to give me a back massage so light there’s not a knot in my shoulders that would even feign a budge. And Cameron? Well, you’re not even two, so I understand that you’re still clueless about all of it, and I also know you will likely spend this day – as I believe you spend all of your days – dreaming up new ways to chip away at my sanity, but I love that you like to join the parade just the same.

So I say this with no disrespect, and with zero connection to my undying love for you both, but boys, if you really want to thank me for being your Mom, do it from the next town – that’s right, I said it. Get out. For just one day, leave me in the splendiferous silence of an empty house and allow me to watch in awe as I put the toys away only to return five minutes later and find them still where they belong. Just one day to read more than a page in my book without having to reread the same line fifty times — the luxury of entering the sanctity of my own bathroom without an entourage. I might just want to watch a movie that doesn’t feature a wise-cracking cat or a chivalrous cartoon mouse. I have a dream…And it’s that one day a year I can walk up the stairs without fear of unidentified flying objects sending me off to an impromptu E.R. visit. On this day, the only food I want to cut up is my own, and I don’t want to have to help anyone find the scissors (that goes for your Dad, too, by the way).

Don’t take it personally. It’s not just you. I want nothing to do with anyone on this one glorious day of the year set aside just for me. My fantasy Mother’s Day celebration is a party of one —no questions, no soccer games, no breaking up fights. In fact the only person allowed in my company is a certified massage therapist, and even then, she’s only allowed to ask some variation of “Here, here or here?”

Okay…so now that we’ve cleared that up – be safe, have a great time with your Dad, eat all your vegetables and oh, yeah …I have no beef with the French toast, so you can leave that and the latte just outside my door on your way out. All my love, Mom