A Mother’s Day Analysis

Another Mother’s Day has come and gone. A day when Moms are recognized for all they do and get one special day to revel in their motheressness.

But year after year, I’ve started to notice some perplexing issues about Mother’s Day – issues that have confused many a mom for decades.

Why do men fail to realize buying a Mother’s Day card is a lot less stressful than squeezing a baby or two out of your lady parts? On Saturday, my friend posted an observance on Facebook regarding how every man in town was descending on the Hallmark aisle in Walgreens for last-minute Mother’s Day cards. Now I am a procrastinator at heart, but really no one masters the last minute Walgreens panic like a frazzled husband. Husbands are the reason God invented the “As Seen on T.V.” endcap.

I think men have become oblivious to Hallmark holidays because they’ve become accustomed to wives who remember every relative’s birthday, buy the cards, stamp the envelopes, and pin down the husbands to sign said cards. (“But honey – it’s your mom’s birthday. Turn off Modern Marvels and sign your damn name. Yes – she will know it’s not your handwriting if I sign it.”) Yes ladies, we have set the holiday card precedent, so we can’t be surprised when the Mr. forgets directions to the card buyin’ store.

Why does every restaurant have to put on its fancy pants for Mother’s Day? Is there really anything more elegant than a Mother’s Day brunch with eggs Benedict served on fine china and mimosas swirled in crystal flutes?

What’s not elegant? A 2-year-old ninja who chucks knives like throwing stars and chugs syrup straight out of Mrs. Butterworth’s head.

For that 26-pound blonde reason, when it came to Mother’s Day lunch, we were looking for something on the low-key side – a cheap burger and sweet potato fries – instead of carved prime rib and made-to-order omelets. Where I could wear shorts and KT could eat a bowl of ketchup with a plastic spoon.

So why does every bar and grill morph into Aunt Lucinda’s Tea Room to capitalize on the guilt of the holiday?

After hunting through websites packed with brunch menus, we finally found a restaurant that served beer and featured the Cardinals game on the big screen. Immediately, I was giddy by the thought of a bleu cheese-laden hunk of beef.

Me: Can I please have a cheeseburger?
Waitress: Oh, we only have a brunch buffet today.
Me: But you’re a bar. And it’s 1:00 in the afternoon.
Waitress: But it’s Mother’s Day. We have to be like everyone else and have a brunch because it’s a documented fact moms only want watery eggs and pastries from Sam’s Club on their very special day.
Me: Grumble.
Waitress: Oh – and it’s $22 for adults.
Me: Grumble. Grumble.

My morale of the story: Mother’s Day brunch at a tea house – good. Mother’s Day brunch at a place known for frat parties and fried pickles – bad. Very, very bad. And very expensive.

Why can’t Mom find the “off” position on the motherboard? I’ve said before I feel like Frankie Heck of The Middle and I are sisters in some alternate universe. This past week’s episode centered on Frankie’s request to spend a kid-free day at home for Mother’s Day, eating donuts and reading magazines. Instead, she spent her time fixing the toilet and defrosting the refrigerator.

So why do we find it so hard to relax – even on our special day? Behold – my inner monologue from Sunday:

3:00 p.m.: Yay! Mr. P’s watching the kids so I can take a Mother’s Day nap!
3:02 p.m.: Holy crap, there’s a lot of laundry on the floor.
3:03 p.m.: Why is KT crying? Please stop crying!
3:05 p.m.: If that mountain of laundry collapses on me, will Mr. P be able to find my decomposing body under the boxer shorts?
3:07 p.m.: Zzzzzz…
3:08 p.m.: Wha..what? Why is the dog barking? Someone let her inside!
3:10 p.m.: Has everyone in my family lost their hearing? Let the dog in! Why can’t anyone hear my inner monologue?!?  
3:11 p.m.: Zzzzzzz…
3:15 p.m..: Fine, laundry, fine! You win - just let me…fold…these socks… A**hole laundry.

As much as I sound like a sarcastic shrew, the truth is, I had an incredible Mother’s Day. I didn’t need a sentimental gift or a cheeseburger or a fantasized-for-days nap to make it wonderful. I just needed two little girls – my toddler who wiped pudding all over my couch and then gave me a chocolate-drenched kiss and my preschooler who picked out the pinkest bouquet of daisies which she presented to me with a shy smile.

They're the two things about Mother’s Day that are easy to understand.

By Nicole Plegge, Lifestyle Blogger for SmartParenting

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Metro East mom Nicole Plegge has written for STL Parent for more than 12 years. Besides working as a freelance writer & public relations specialist, and raising two daughters and a husband, Nicole's greatest achievements are finding her misplaced car keys each day and managing to leave the house in a stain-free shirt. Her biggest regret is never being accepted to the Eastland School for Girls. Follow Nicole on Twitter @STLWriterinIL 

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