So tomorrow is Mother’s Day and Mother’s Day is the kind of holiday I’d normally think is total bullshit and want to stab people for celebrating, but because I actually AM a mom now and thus stand to benefit from its bullshit, I’ve decided that MOTHER’S DAY IS AWESOME. And not bullshit at all. Because I want lots of stuff and I really need some people to be nice to me and this is my last chance for either of those things to happen until my birthday, which isn’t until July and by then I’ll just be too busy melting in the summer heat and feeling sorry for myself for being so old to even notice or care.
The only mar on this otherwise beautiful day is the fact that I’m expected to buy shit for other people, too. Like my own mom. And my stepmom and my grandma and mother-in-law. All of whom are awesome and deserve awesome stuff, but they are also not ME and therefore require me to purchase things *I* might want for *other* people to have. Which is, in my book (henceforth known as The Esteemed Book of Beej), LAME under any circumstances.
And maybe you think I’m a dick for saying that, but that’s just because I am. And I think you’re a dick for thinking I’m a dick. SO. RUDE. IT’S MY DAY, asshole, and I can say whatever I want.
See? This is how Mother’s Day works.
And yes, I realize that technically Mother’s Day is tomorrow, but I’m pretty sure the founding fathers (read: HALLMARK) meant the word “Day” in this case very loosely. It’s more appropriately defined as “Weekend.” Or possibly “Four-Day Weekend.” “Week,” maybe. Every other mother I’ve discussed this with agrees on “Week” so let’s just stick with that.
So that means that today I can say whatever I want. And tomorrow. And I can also DO whatever I want, and the people I live with have to let me. And they will walk on their tippy toes and be nice and and clean my house and let me take long naps and fan me with those big palm leaves while I sip gulp mimosas and act surprised at the pile of gifts I’m showered with like Spa Days and Maid Service for a Year and Expensive Jewelry and Matt Damon on a Stick.
OR I’ll end up cleaning the bathrooms and wiping up dog puke and folding a shitload of laundry and chasing the Bean through the grocery store shouting “One!… Two!… If I get to three you’re in BIG TROUBLE, MISTER!… Do you hear me? I mean it, Little Bean! DO YOU HEAR ME?!?!” as he rounds the corner and disappears leaving nothing but a trail of smashed grapes and an echo of giggles behind him.
(One of the above scenarios is much more likely than the other.)
Honestly, if I had to list out the things I’m most hopeful to receive for Mother’s Day it would be filled with things like NOT having to look at the enormous pile of laundry that lives on the floor RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE BIG BEAN’S HAMPER (oh, the painful irony) or the thousand pounds of weights that have taken up an entire corner of my living room ever since that STUPID BITCH P90X came into our lives.
(Seriously. I HATE you, P90X. You’ve given my husband an excuse to feel good about himself again and that is simply NOT ACCEPTABLE. He’s so much easier to live with when he feels out of shape and unattractive and has no goals.)
Maybe the Little Bean could poop in the potty just ONCE without me having to beg or plead or be mean or bribe or cajole or cry or beg again?
Yeah, I didn’t think so.
Anyway what I’m trying to say here is that I both hate and love Mother’s Day and I hope every person reading this who has borne a child or adopted a child or just loved a child, and who also happens to have a vagina, has a terrific day and gets Matt Damon (or his equivalent) on a Stick. Because you’ve earned it. Just like me.
Happy Mother’s Day!!
P.S. If you’re looking for something super awesome to do on your special day, you should click on over to FunnyNotSlutty.com and read my latest column. And then you should leave a comment. It will make you feel really really good. Especially that comment part. Seriously. It’s like spending a day at the spa but without ever having to leave your house! Or eating an entire pecan pie with ice cream and never gaining an ounce! But don’t just take MY word for it — Try it and see!Stumble it!