Mimosas and Bed Sores.

My son, on realizing it was mothers day this weekend, complained petulantly and asked "Do I have to get you a gift mom?" Being a single parent in a family that has a Matriarch means that mothers day isn't about me. I'm not a "real" mom.

Plus, mother's day is for mothers with partners[1] , right?  A dad that'll drag a lazy kid, or rein in an over enthusiastic kid ,  on mother's day.  You know, to do that really sweet breakfast thing while mom stays in bed 4 hours later than usual, getting bedsores, pretending she isn't imagining her kitchen, which she stocked and cleaned,  being destroyed? 

I get it,  I really do, and if that ritual words for folks then I wish them all the best.

Me?  I've asked my kid to have breakfast with me.  Make it, and eat it, together.  Nothing fancy.  Sitting at the table.  Creative is okay.  If we make a mess he helps me clean up. TV, PS3 and internet off.  He hesitated a moment, calculating how much time he'd lose from Minecraft and MW3, and how early he'd need to get up, but he'll do it.  It’s more about winning than quality time together.

But no matter what we do or plan, it's a day that leaves me feeling disenfranchised. 

It's an opposite day.

If it was actually okay to have mimosas before lunch  we'd all do it all the time. 

It's a day to be showered with affection, where our work and worry is ignored the rest of the time, unless we don't do it. It's a day to be thanked,  when the rest of our year is thankless.  It's a day spent with our kids.  No matter how much we love our kids, how willingly we'd take a bullet for them, put our dreams on hold for them, remake out lives for them, we existed as human beings before and after they were born or arrived in our care.

What if we, mothers, decided that we need to be less selfless, and be more selfish. 

"Go out more, keep cheerful as well as busy, for you are the sunshine-maker of the family, and if you get dismal there is no fair weather. " Little Women

Me?   I'm going to Oasis Aqualounge on Friday with a friend, after luncha t the Salad King on Yonge.  That's my celebration for every time I kept my temper and gave over the last chicken nugget and got paintball splatters out of a favourite hoodie. Oh, and for the thing with the toilet,  the whining during the man-cold in March, and the exploding yogurt in the backpack.  If you google that you'll find that it's a sex club, but don't be too shocked. They have a heated pool and patio outside, and it's going to be 20C, so I'm going to lie on a padded bench in the sun in a thong and I'm going to do absolutely nothing more useful than get a line-free tan and swim with a girl friend.  

No mimosas though - their OJ is extra pulpy.