Mother's Day? Bah Humbug!

I hate Mother's Day. Don't get me wrong: I adore my children and they, me; I worship the ground my mother walks on, but I hate this contrived, freaking day.

Early in our marriage there was nothing we could do to please my husband's mother. No card arrived early enough; no homage was solemn enough; no celebration adequate enough. The animosity and acrimony surrounding this day was antithetical to the way my own parents treated me. I couldn't understand and didn't like the way I felt. After a while we just gave up and I swore I would never subject my children to the same attitudes. Granted, I have probably gone too far the other way in my reaction, but my children show their love for me every single day of the year. They tell me how much they love me, and more importantly they show me in millions of other ways. Conversely, my mother and I have always had a great relationship. We talk frequently and the time we spend together is blessed with lots of discussion and laughter. How we treat each other the other 364 days of the year is so much more important than what we do on this one, damn day.

Things have substantially changed in the relationship with my husband's parents -- gotten much better, but the memories of the angst around this holiday remain in my heart, so much so, that I prefer to spend it just like any other Sunday in early May -- with a good book or perhaps in my garden.