Sunday is annual Go Out to Eat Day, also known as Mother’s Day.
Across the country, moms will feast on burnt toast and partially cooked pancakes in their beds and eagerly await a day of cleaning the things you tried to clean and fixing the things you tried to fix.
While she’s recovering from what is likely a mild case of food poisoning, dutiful children will rush to the Dollar Store and pile as much “mother” stuff as they have into a cart, throw it in a basket and hope she doesn’t realize the card says “On your 50th Birthday.”
Besides, she’ll understand. Who has time to shop for mom during the week? Or Saturday? It’s not like “Game of Thrones” is going to binge watch itself.
But maybe she deserves a bit more this year. Don’t worry. I’m an expert on Mother’s Day. One of my parents was a mother. In fact, she practically raised me.
Every mother wants the same thing. They want you to take their hands in your hands, look deep in their eyes and say, “Thank you, Mom. You work … so … hard.”
Your eyes should be welling with tears. If you can make them shimmer like classic Japanese animation, that’s even better. And on the last three words you should heave and collapse into a tear-drenched hug.
It doesn’t matter if she actually works hard or not.
Don’t forget she had to do the unimaginable. She had to put up with you.
Now, you ARE my favorite reader. But even someone as amazing as you wasn’t always that way. You have a dark secret in your past. You were once a baby.
Statistics have shown that 100 percent of mothers have babies, and babies are horrible.
They are tiny shrieking Terminators who will not stop until they get what they want, even if they don’t know what they want, even if what they want was something they might have dreamed, even if what they want now terrifies them for no logical reason.
In fact, if babies weren’t so comically cute and adorable and delightful and eat-em-right-up-om-nom-nom-nom with their oversized eyes and giggling, we’d probably just leave them in a pile somewhere.
So when your mother asks you to check the Googles and put eyebrows on her car’s headlights, you smile and say, “Yes, Mom.”
When your mother says you should go to The University of Maryland University College because it sounds the most prestigious, you smile and say, “Yes, Mom.”
When she says you should bingewatch “Rosemary & Thyme” or “Midsomer Murders” you … smile … and … say “Yes, Mom” and be thankful it’s not “Murder She Wrote.”
And maybe get a nice basket of bath products, something with lavender.
— Steve Mullen [friday] editor | Former baby