Dear Husband: What I Really Want for Mother’s Day
Mother’s day is my jam. I think moms deserve every bit of their unofficial employee appreciation day for the tireless and often thankless work they do. And since I value experiences more than things, here is a little something I’ve jotted down for you, sweet husband, if you really want to treat the mother of your children. Totally free, no breakfast in bed required. (For the love of crumb-free sheets, please no breakfast in bed.)
I will admit that since having kids, my body has apparently forgotten how to do this. The children start chirping, and an invisible force drags me out from under the sheets like something from the Walking Dead. So on Mother’s Day let’s just pretend I’m asleep when we both know I’m just scrolling through my Instagram feed with the covers over my head.
By “breakfast” I mean coffee. And by “enjoy” I mean drink it hot. And I would like to drink it sitting down. In a chair. At a table. With no one crawling in my lap, peppering me with questions. It’s called a latte, yes it’s delicious, no you can’t try some, and that is indeed whipped cream on top. YOLO. Go find Dad; I’m off the clock.
Be off the clock
I would like to relinquish all mothering duties on this day. No meal prepping, face wiping, diaper changing, spill cleaning. No refereeing of arguments, no assembling of crafts. Just like Lady Mary from Downton Abbey, when I am ready to “receive” the children, I will send for them.
Be in control
…of the remote. And the couch. For some reason, a mom sitting on a couch by herself becomes the little ones’ favorite time to attach themselves to her like Velcro, so let’s all observe the personal space rule and repeat after me: NO TOUCHING ON MOTHER’S DAY.
Take the world’s longest shower
I would feel guiltier about this except that the amount of water I’ve used this year is roughly equal to the number of tears I’ve shed at not being able to take a proper shower. I’ve got about 3 years’ worth of body scrubs to use up and you might not see me until dinnertime; if you hear the hairdryer, you’ll know I’m alive. Please do not, under any circumstances, knock on the door, open the door, or bring in a crying child who “misses” me. You’ve got to be strong or they will own you.
Drive myself 78 miles to the nearest TCBY
This is extreme. But I read somewhere that they give out freebies for moms on Mother’s Day, and you know how I feel about fro-yo. I’ll have the minivan all to myself (#vacay), and I’m bringing all my girls – Celine, Whitney, Mariah. Since no one else in this family appreciates a 90s ballad, I’m ready to roll down some windows and feel my feelings, and I’m not going to apologize for getting emotional during the key change of “I Want It That Way.”
Be with books
Usually when I try to sneak out of the kids’ corner and into the adult section of the library I catch the squint eyes of a disapproving librarian that say, YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE WITH YOUR STROLLER POSSE. BACK TO YOUR CORNER. But nobody puts Baby in a corner on Mother’s Day. On Mother’s Day, I’d like the gift of kid-free time to walk into that fiction section with my head held high and my stroller-free hands touching all of the books, and they won’t be able to do a thing about it.
Roam Target aisles, also by myself
… I’ll be back in 6 hours.
After a while that empty minivan is going to feel a little too quiet. I’ll take back everything I said about personal space and suddenly crave the feeling of five bodies smooshed onto two couch cushions as we read bedtime stories. The squish of chubby hands as we walk up the stairs “like a big girl.” The weight of our tiniest on my chest as she falls asleep. Sometimes a mom just needs some time away, some space to breathe, so that she can return to the nest with a full tank of gas. Because being a mom is my favorite, and there’s nowhere I’d rather be than at home with you and the babes. (Although eating fro-yo in peace is a close second.) Thanks for helping me be the best mom I can be. And I haven’t forgotten that Father’s Day is just around the corner…