Here it is, plain and simple.
I categorically refuse to spend my Mother’s Day at a soccer game, on a lacrosse field, or in observation of any child-centric activity. I WILL NOT DO IT.
I don’t care if the “Mother’s Day Tourney” emails include snide and snarky comments like “don’t worry moms, we’ll be sure to buy you a Starbucks he he he”. Screw you – twice, in a circle.
Attention: Organizers of Kid’s Sporting Events
I am a mother. I work my ass off every single day – both at a paying job and a non-paying job. Some days I hate one and love the other (generally a toss up of which). Some days I white knuckle both until the nanosecond I make it back to my bed….
I don’t want your snarky Starbucks – you can shove that too. Starbucks sucks – I like Dunkin Donuts. If you’re going to pretend to give a crap about the fact that it’s Mother’s Day at least get my coffee preference right.
But you wouldn’t know which coffee I prefer. You don’t know that my favorite show is Downton Abbey, or that my version of heaven includes a comfortable chair and an unending stack of books. And here’s why you don’t know that – you don’t care about Mother’s Day, why would you? That’s a job for family.
Whose life is it really?
Our lives have ceased to show any semblance of rationality. As mothers (and fathers) we have merely become bystanders and coordinators in the lives of our children. We schedule, we drive, we pack (may God and all the saints forgive us if we should forget 40 pounds of snacks and 2 DVDs for a 40 minute drive across town), we unpack, we scrub cleats, and then we do it all again.
Don’t misunderstand – I enjoy watching my both of my kids participate in sports. I think it’s good for them physically, the process of trying and often losing is a valuable endeavor. I scrub the cleats, my husband scrubs the car – we have a rhythm, it is what it is. Fine.
But when it comes to what I would consider family time, the big difference is this little thing call PRIORITIES. Like the time that you owe to your MOTHER, and in turn – your grandmother, and your aunts, and your family.
What exactly are you meant to tell your 75 year old mother on Mother’s Day? Is that one game, is that one event really more important than the one, single, solitary moment you are meant to focus on the women in your life who nurture your entire existence. Seriously?
The center of the universe, like for real
We make our children the center of their universe and then wonder why they’re self centered and never think of anyone else.
Want to know why? Because on freaking Mother’s Day – you’re standing like a schmuck on the sidelines of a soccer field in a town whose name you’ve already forgotten, jones-ing for just another cup of coffee, and eyeballing the port-a-potties trying to determine if you have to go “that bad” or not.
We create the monster we deserve and it isn’t their fault – it’s our fault. Yours and mine – we do these things. We go down the rabbit hole of absurdity and then wonder why sweet little Susie doesn’t want to donate $5 of her own allowance to the local food bank. Why would she? She doesn’t give a crap about anyone but “Susie” because you spend every day showing her that the entire world is meant to cater to her every whim.
We carefully cook the monster and then lament its creation.
I’m opting out
Sorry ladies and gents, not me. Count me out this year, I refuse.
Instead I will be spending the day with my family. They have a full day planned if the terribly loud whispering is any judge, and I can’t wait! I heard the word “bacon” – and that’s all I need. Some dead pig, some coffee, some board games, and maybe a movie. The perfect day with my husband and kiddos.
And I can guarantee you they will buy me Dunkin Donuts.
Oh, and by the way Mr. Soccer Tourney Organizer, you can give the Starbucks to that lady twitching by the port-a-potty, she looks like she can use all the help she can get.
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