When Mother's Day Feels Like Other's Day

We started watching a family-friendly TV series (which shall remain nameless in case you happen to love it) where the first episode begins on Mother’s Day. Parents with five adult kids, their partners, and some grandchildren are gathered in a beautiful backyard on a perfectly lovely day. They’re all perfectly gorgeous. They’ve just finished a delicious brunch. It’s not clear who cooked the meal, but I bet it wasn’t Mom.

Now it’s time for Mom to open her perfectly chosen gifts. She receives a necklace she loves, earrings to match, a sweater that fits, a scarf to go with it, and a gift card for an evening out with Dad (the doctor who adores her and tells her how much she deserves it all). Everybody expresses their love and appreciation to Mom, with the obligatory sibling competitiveness thrown in to keep it real. They make plans for their next family dinner in a week.

So heartwarming I wanted to throw up.

Just me?

Granted, the show then delved into some pretty heavy family problems and I understand that over the course of the series, each offspring takes their turn to face a personal crisis that affects the whole family. The show is probably designed to model for viewers (or readers of the novels it’s based on) how tough circumstances can be handled in healthier ways. That’s never a bad thing.

I just wonder how many people feel represented by these characters. I hate to sound like a bitter old woman, but first of all, how do you raise five children and convince them all to live within come-for-brunch distance? How does no one have to work that day? How is no one sick? How is there not at least one individual at odds with another, refusing to attend? How do they coordinate the food and have everyone bring what they said they’d bring, and on time?

How do they all have money for gifts? How do they communicate so well that they can coordinate said gifts? How do they even think of it in time to have a gift purchased, wrapped, and ready by brunch time?

Some of the kids are mothers themselves. How do they prefer brunch with their parents and siblings over a restaurant with their spouse? Some of them have mothers-in-law. How do they not need to spend time with her? Is there a grandmother in the equation, sitting home alone and forgotten?

So many questions. I suppose that’s why they call it fiction.

The setup in this story well represents the ideal picture that a mother of grown children might imagine if she allowed herself to dream. If she had magically managed to raise such thoughtful, organized, wealthy people. If life hadn’t taught her to lower her expectations so that even a text or phone call on Mother’s Day provides cause for celebration. If she’d learned not to beat herself up as a failure when her picture-perfect Mother’s Day doesn’t materialize.

If you’ve come to expect a Mother’s Day that won’t result in Facebook-worthy family photos of smiling faces, flowers, and food, you are not alone. You won’t be the only one scrolling social media, wishing your day looked more like someone else’s or trying to feel genuinely happy for your friends.

But you’re also not the only one who loves her kids more than life. Motherhood has taught you more about love than a million perfect Mother’s Days ever could. You walk around in a body that has spent itself to give others life and nourishment. You carry inside you a heart that beats grace a thousand times every day, lungs that breathe hope and healing for your children all their lives long, a spirit that prays for them unceasingly. These gifts may not come wrapped in pretty paper, but they are gifts. They’re yours to cherish and use with gratitude and joy in this perfectly imperfect world.

Happy Mother’s Day.