Fetal Position

Ah, Mother's Day. A time to celebrate your mother and all the wonderful things she's done for you. A chance to thank her for always being there for you and for her unconditional love and support.

What utter bullshit.

It's just another in a long line of holidays made up by Hallmark and the flower industry to sell their wares. This one is right up there with Valentine's Day, Administrative Professionals Day (the new politically correct Secretaries Day), Father's Day, Sweetheart's Day (because the flower sellers needed yet another day they could charge ten times the normal price for roses), Bosses Day, Grandparent's Day and Easter.

Damn I hate these nuisance holidays. Oh I know what you're thinking, that it's good to honor your mother and show her some love and.....zzzzzzzzzzz....

Oh puhlease! You know, if you love your mother and all, think she's the bee's knees, is your best friend, biggest supporter, the gosh-darnedest greatest mother ever do you really need a day on the calendar to remember to tell her? And should the rest of us have to be pressured into dealing with it even if we don't really feel that way about our mother?

And what the fuck? Aren't mothers always telling us that motherhood is its own reward? They should be taking us out to dinner.

I suppose I might feel differently if I liked my mother. Probably not though. I still think Valentine's Day is fucking idiotic and I love my wife a lot.

I liked this a ton better when I didn't have to deal with it. That was basically my twenties. I moved to the west coast and never sent my mother a card or gift on Mother's Day. Come to think of it, I don't think I did for her birthday either. This made my life a lot easier. See, when you have a mother as bat shit crazy as mine, life is better when she's mad and not speaking to you. The happiest times of my life in my twenties were when she never called. Eventually she would always start bothering me again because she would realize that the silent treatment didn't work at all. She always has this image in her head that when she feels she's wronged she can stop calling me until I call to beg her forgiveness. Like I said, bat shit crazy.

But these are not these times anymore. Now that I'm married my wife doesn't want me doing this because she figures that my mother might blame her. That's actually a pretty reasonable belief seeing how my mother has acted toward her other children's spouses on occasion. So we send things on the pointless holidays now.

And she calls too damn much. To tell me I never call.

Most people can get that clue.

Look, I know there are those of you out there that think your mother is great and love giving her gifts on Mother's Day. I'm happy for you. I really am. But some of us had a childhood that less resembled a Norman Rockwell painting and more a bad ABC After School Special. Our house was a den of violence growing up. Our bitter, angry mother whacked us around, which of course socialized us to conflict resolving by the same method. My brother, sister and I were always beating the crap out of each other when Mom wasn't.

So forgive me the whole idea of "honoring Mom" leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

Besides, do you know how hard it is to find a card that says, "Thanks for the broom across the back for the time I accidentally spilled dirt out of the dust pan on to the garage floor Mom," without a special order?

Or, "If it weren't for you Mom, I wouldn't have gotten to spend all that fun time in therapy. So thanks!"

And, "Mom, with you I got the best of both worlds. Physical and emotional abuse."

And she is coming.

She arrives late Thursday night to stay with us this weekend. She's leaving early Sunday, but still. I have to deal with actual Mother's Day in my face this year and have to actually do stuff with her for the weekend. Which will mean going to The Drowsy Chaperone on Broadway because that is something that we can do that will require no talking. I wanted to go to something like Inherit The Wind or the just opened Radio Golf, August Wilson's final play in his ten play cycle, but my mother doesn't like to go to any theatre or see any movie that requires her brain to function. So The Drowsy Chaperone it is.

And I get to do joyful things like have to hang out with my obnoxious mother who likes to do embarrassing things in public in places like Sardi's and the Empire State Building. As an added bonus, she's a Born Again Christian now. Oh joy.

The best part is that I will regress back to my moody, pensive, angry 17-year old self. And that will be so much fun for my wife!

I think I'll be buying a bottle of red wine tomorrow.