Monday, April 29, 2013

Mother's Day

Mother's Day is coming up and I have had a revelation....In fact, if a book was dedicated to my life at this point, it would be the Book of Revelations (Save your angry blasphemy comments, my atheism is the subject of a whole other post)... and this one came screaming out like hot lava from the depths of whatever hell you believe in on its furious way to help everyone understand how I feel about total bullshit like Mother's Day.

I don't need a Sunday in May to come around once a year like a rare butterfly and grace me with the presence of its beauty and perfection, fluttering around momentarily so I can see its wings and the intricate design created by nature for this magnificent creature to just fly away for another year. Fuck that.

What I need is for everyone to stop thinking that I wake up and activate my XX Chromosomes of Glory every morning, flip a switch, and climb into  to my Give A Shit mobile because I cannot wait to drive right into their needs. I do not push myself through 364 days each year to get a potted plant and card created by some half baked failed poet to tell me how great I am in order to nourish me through another year of making sure everyone keeps getting all of the comfort out of life that I can possibly manage to shove into it for them. If one more person tells me that Motherhood is the hardest job, but its the best job, they better back out of the room or I'm breaking my foot off in their ass.

Sound bitchy? You don't like me now? Fair enough. I never promised you a mommy blog and we aren't even close to done yet. This revelation came with a lot of baggage it dragged upward in its reverse demon tractor pull, and one piece I found dangling with it was that I don't have two flying fucks to give about what other people do and don't like. I am living in a world that is a constant collision of women trying to be who they really are and all people, women included, trying to maintain the status quo. It's like the big bang...and new things are going to get created in the process. Clutch your pearls and grab your bible because this is as real as it gets.

Let me help everyone out: Don't even dream of coming to my house, deciding you don't like the furniture or thinking it looks messy, then train your eyes on me in order to start judging and figuring out why I am not following the script. You will get marched out on your ass, and I won't so much as offer you a drink. When I try to be a whole human being and not the need fulfillment center, the collisions are often loud and result in bits of expectations strewn all about the wreckage. 

Expectations are at the root of it all. We need them in order to feel secure and know what people want from us so that we don't feel like we are floating little jellyfish in the ocean of society, never able to gain approval from our social group. We also need to temper them, because they have a way of being based on experiences, memories both real and imagined and historical information on what 'someone should be'. That is dangerous shit. Way more dangerous than the vase I will throw at you if you come tell me how I am doing what women are best at. I am not good at taking orders and growing boobs didn't make me any better at it. My aim however is getting much better, so duck and run.

Mother's Day has become the greeting card version of telling someone that they should want to take care of others, that it is their job on earth, and rewarding them with the notion that it will bring them joy to bring you dinner. Don't bring me flowers because you want to even the score. Bring me flowers because you think I will like them. Don't patronize me with how other women can sympathize. Someone else getting screwed over won't make me feel better. Oh, people think she has nothing better to do than dishes, too? Well, at least I'm not alone! Can it.

To everyone who is shopping for their Mother's Day gifts this year or waiting until next Saturday to punch in a promo code on the florists' website: listen up! Don't make a big deal of this. Instead, take care of yourself to the extent you are able. Don't rely on the woman in your house to remind you of every appointment and responsibility you have. Get your crap together and this will be obsolete. Then if you feel like you still need to show some respect to a woman who did/does so much for you, leave your pre-printed greeting in the store where you found it. Think about why you want to thank this person then do it. In person or on the phone. Say what you feel. Appreciate them for the person they are, not the expectations you want to continue to place on them. Don't absolve yourself of guilt with daisies. Tell them what they mean to you. Then s
tep away, leave an open bottle of wine and the best book you can find on the counter and get out. I promise, we'll do the same for you.

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