Actually, it’s a harrowing truth about Mother’s Day too. What is it about these parental days, that they can linger in memory for a lifetime if not played by the rules? Listen carefully, and make sure you get them right this time round. By Sam Wilson
I am afraid of Mother’s Day, because of the Harrowing Incident of 1981.
My mother is a traditional stay-at-home mom, and has always taken Mother’s Day very seriously. My father on the other hand? Not so much. And so it was, on that fateful Sunday, that my older brother and I completely failed to fête her.
‘So no presents, no breakfast, not even a cup of tea?’ my mother asked icily from her bed that morning. ‘Do you know what day it is today?’
Even 8-year-old me knew this was not a rhetorical question. My heart sank as I remembered the pink Mother’s Day card I had fashioned in class that Friday, now squished at the bottom of my school bag. Was it too late to haul it out? I asked. It was indeed too late. I was told this with some force.
Clearly, the ensuing Father’s Day was not particularly marked by celebration. It was not until the Spectacular Recovery of 1985, when my Dad discovered my mother’s love of Lladró porcelain figures, that we really got into our Mother’s Day stride and Father’s Day could be unlocked.
Because Mother’s Day performance is strongly linked to Father’s Day effort, isn’t it? Mothers are wiley creatures, and are often more affected by the nudging of advertising than fathers. They also tend to hold a grudge.
Although there is always that one husband who goes completely overboard on his partner’s first Mother’s Day, showering her with flowers and presents and Eggs Benedict and lunch at a fancy restaurant. And thereby ruining Mother’s Day for himself for the rest of their relationship – you try keep that up for 25 years, Buster – and earning the serious dislike of all his male friends when she posts joyfully on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter all day.
In our house, it’s all a bit topsy-turvy, as I am the Dad and my husband Andreas is the Mom. A few years back, I told the boys that I didn’t want any fuss on Mother’s Day, as it was a day celebrating traditional moms, and not moms who work constantly and could not recognise one of their children’s lunchboxes in Lost Property if their lives depended on it.
Yes, I was deep in working mother self-loathing at the time.
Of course, this pious abstemiousness lasted right until I didn’t receive any presents, breakfast or tea. And regardless of how hard I tried to act like I didn’t care, my sons are violently attuned to Mother’s Day sentiment, ready to pick up on any whiff of disappointment. (Their grandmother has told them the tale of the Harrowing Incident may times.)
I got over this rubbish that I am not entitled to Mother’s Day, pretty quickly. Part of my reclamation came about through an earnest talk with my partner, whereby we set very clear performance objectives for these days, thereby removing the traumatising uncertainty.
We handle them both exactly the same. The parent-to-be-fêted gets breakfast in bed, prepared by the children and augmented by something edible by the not-currently-being-fêted parent. The breakfast tray also delivers flowers, some nice smelling soap and an appropriate book.
Mom/Dad is encouraged to make both the lunch take-out and the dSTV Catch Up decision. The consensus is that celebrations peter out whilst watching series and are officially over by mid-afternoon. Sorted.
The main thing to know about Parents’ Days? They are not about the children. They are, for better or for worse, about the relationship between parents. So make some clear rules and stick to them.
These are not celebrations to be marked by surprises, as the most likely surprise to ensue is that one of you have totally forgotten. And this, my kidded friends, is how you avoid your own Harrowing Incidents.
And fathers? If you have already screwed up Mother’s Day this year, be gracious in the non-event that will be your Father’s Day. Just make sure the celebratory guidelines are clearly set in April next year.
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