Mother’s Day: a day when florists, shops and restaurants make a killing.
I know that many eschew the crassness and commercialisation of celebrations such as Mother’s Day. I certainly do. Why should we fall prey to the big business of consumerism that targets our guilt and sends us madly rushing to the florist and forces us to purchase all manner of dross as a means of saying “I love you”? Our letter boxes are crammed full of catalogues with gift ideas for mum – slippers and pyjamas still feature strongly – and all manner of websites take this opportunity to offer specials and discounts and encourage you to buy – even if not for your mum, then just for yourself. We’re brought up from a very early age to pay tribute to these occasions but at least as young children we’re making things rather than buying them (burnt toast anyone?). I find Valentine’s Day particularly heinous – cards, roses and restaurants offering special set menus (read: pre-prepared, no choice) which hardly spells romance. Run a mile from any romance poseur who lacks the imagination to think of a romantic gesture and opts instead for a schmaltzy token by way of a single red rose. Ugh! (However, should he bring you a tiny rosebud and either place it behind your ear or pin it to your dress, you’ve got a winner).
And yet. There is something to be said for the gesture. Sometimes you just need a bit of kindness. A token of appreciation.
This year I missed being remembered on Mother’s Day. I didn’t necessarily want a gift but I did want a message of love – alas my children were too busy planning their overseas trips. Secretly I was hoping that there would be a tiny little present left for me to find but I would have equally been happy with a message. To be fair, my daughter was in transit to New York and my son was in Toronto and then on his way to meet his sister and Toronto is a day behind, so I can’t really complain, and in the past they have thought of some wonderful surprise gifts/expeiriences for me.
I’m having a “woe is me” moment. I was really surprised at how I felt. I’ve never been a fan of Mother’s Day (although I always send my mother a card and flowers because I know she appreciates it) but I do like to be treated to a glass of champagne (actually I like to be treated to a glass of champagne on any day – it doesn’t have to be an occasion). My husband says that I am not his mother so therefore he doesn’t feel obliged to do anything on this day. But on Father’s Day I ensure that I make something of it – perhaps lunch out or a picnic, or even just champagne and nice nibbles at home as a way of acknowledging and celebrating him in his role as father to our children. Perhaps its just getting older that makes me want this token of love. Or perhaps I just miss my children.
So today, I intend to luxuriate in a bath full of scents and bubbles, light a candle, put on some music, read my book and drink champagne to celebrate my being a mum. After all, every day is Mother’s Day.