The Mother of All Days

Ah, Mother's Day. The day that children all over want to shower their mothers with love and affection and mothers just want to spend by themselves. No, seriously.

I'm not sure how mother's day got so out of hand, but I read an article in the NY Times over the weekend which estimated the number of women's lives that could be saved if all the money we spent on Mother's Day cards and gifts went into causes like prenatal health. It was mind-blowing! In future, I'm going to request that if money has to be spent, it should be in the form of a charitable donation.

My own mother was adamant that we not celebrate Mother's Day in our house. She didn't want any one day to assuage our guilt, she wanted to be treated well and appreciated every - well, let's be realistic, most - day(s). Quite right. Although it is hard not to appreciate those beaded cardboard heart brooches and painted jewelry boxes. And I relish finding out which particular characteristic is the focus of this year's "Why I love you mommy". Sometimes it's spot on: "You do so much for me". Sometimes it's random: "You always help me with my homework." And sometimes it's entirely fabricated: "I love you because you take me to get ice cream every day."

This year I slept in, read the paper while my husband took all three children to church (and pretended I was sympathetic to their having to go), went to see Iron Man 2 (my choice!) en famille, then went out for dinner. No cooking, no cleaning, no worries. Value to me? Priceless.