Want to know why I dislike Mothers Day? We were in a cafe, crowded against the wall by a spreading table of one family, all hunched over in their chairs: grandfather, husband, brother, wife, and two small blonde girl children. Mother sat between her two children. Their demand on her attention was constant. “Oh, that’s lovely, now why don’t you draw me a great big house where all those people can live?” The men talked amongst themselves, playing a game of cards.
Mother was not engaged with the card game, she was busy mothering.
Lunch arrived. A plate was set down before each adult: big breakfast, steak and chips, eggs benedict, big breakfast. The mother divided her breakfast in three. Clean white plates were set either side of her for the girls and she had to ask the smaller daughter to keep her fingers out of the eggs as she parsed and divided a great mound of bacon. Her enormously fat husband and groovy dad and quiet, spare-spoken brother tucked in. Just as the mother had finished dividing her breakfast the littler girl wanted the toilet. All three females got up and headed out back.
We had finished our coffees. We got up to go. At the doorway I doubled back. Three men, oblivious, satisfied, stuffing their faces. “Guys,” I said, spreading my hands, striving for humour. “How come Mum is doing all the parenting – even on Mothers Day?”
They crouched into chuckles. A knowing guffaw from the husband, who looked up and said, “Aw, but…. she had two hours lying in bed this morning, the kids brought her a cuppa tea.” I lit my fury with the fat of his land. He just looked so pleased with himself, so well-fed. His wife had stayed slender and groomed herself, even as she produced offspring for his lineage. “Oho!” I said. “Two whole hours! Out of 365 days! You’re right, you’re not sexist at all. But hey, better watch out she doesn’t get used to that, right.”
He smirked. He knows the world tilts his way. I put my hand on his plump shoulder. “Take care of your lovely lady, dude.” To no avail, no doubt. I wish I had spoken to the mother instead. I wish I didn’t live in a consuming culture where we can just buy things to make up for all we don’t do, make room for, allow, feed, feel. Mothers Day – like Earth Day – if you’re serious, why not make it every day.
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