It’s like the Queen Mother. But different.
It’s Mother’s Day, people. Mother’s Day is at the top of my list of holidays-that-got-shanghaied-by-commercialism. Right up there with Valentine’s Day and Christmas. Now, one of my favorite things in life (and this is true) is to redeem holidays that have gone native and spend them doing activities in the actual spirit of the day (on Valentine’s Day, I write love letters. Real ones. With pen and ink and nice paper and perfume dottings and all. Take THAT, Hallmark). Mother’s Day I haven’t figured out yet, and here’s why.
My mom really likes Mother’s Day.
And I get that. What’s not to love about a day that celebrates the extraordinary pain involved in bearing and raising a child? (Seriously. I did NOT make that second part easy.) It started off so well, too. Mother’s Day had some great origins. Historically, lots of countries have a day to celebrate motherhood, and moms get gifts and appreciation on that day. It’s been going on since Greek and Roman times (for those of you who aren’t reading the comments, and seriously, you’re missing out, yes, those are the same Greeks and Romans who admired the aesthetics of a small penis). In this country, it was adapted originally to be a peace day, “Mother’s Day for Peace.” Later, as a movement to get better sanitary conditions during the Civil War.
Seriously. How cool is that? Mothers stood up to ask for peace and for safety. They wanted their day to symbolize those things that are associated most with hearth and home. Before anyone gets all uppity on me about the fact that women can be the breadwinners too, I remind you that I am single, female, and an entrepreneur, and that I wield mighty double-handed swords. I still think it’s awesome that instead of saying, “We deserve a day to be pampered and loved for being mothers,” they said, “We want our day to symbolize motherhood, and so we will use it to stand up for peace and safety, because that is what motherhood is about, bitches.”
They probably didn’t say that last bit, this was the Civil War. They were thinking it, though.
I’m two days away from going home to see my own mother, which is when she’s going to be showered with the gifts and all. Until then, I’m going to call her up and we’re going to have a long, long talk, because in twenty-four years of being my mother’s daughter, I have discovered that the thing she likes most is talking with me. Not most in the ENTIRE WORLD (I’ve got a brother and a sister she’s pretty fond of talking to as well, and I’ve seen her get positively squidgy over new cellphone technology), but most from me.
I’m also going to blog about it, because she gets kind of tickled about the blog thing, too.
You’re amazing, and I love you. In honor of the Greeks and the Romans and the Chinese and the Brits (back when they were English) and really awesome colonial mothers, Happy Mother’s Day.
If I am happier than I have ever been in my life right now (and I am), it is because of you.
If I am smarter than the average box of biscuits (and I like to think so), it is because of you.
If I am an incredibly speedy typist and that fact helped me become a better writer, because I could get what I was thinking onto the page as I was thinking it (which is true in ways I never dreamed when I was trying to beat the hell out of Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing), it is because I saw you working on a computer back when computers were not common, in your basement office, and you were tapping away like mad, and I thought “That is so cool. I want to do that.”
If I am an incredible wiseass on this blog and you worry about it sometimes (which I know you do), you should blame Daddy. It’s all his fault.
I love you.
Subscribe already. You’re my Mom, you’re supposed to.