, my wife is a mother, my sister is a mother, my sister-in-law is a mother, my mother-in-law is a mother... 
Anne Lamott
Yesterday at 8:11am ·
This is the Mothers Day piece I wrote for Salon in 2008. I hope it helps those of you who dread Mothers Day because you had an awful mother, or because you didn't have kids for any reason that leaves you sad, or your kids ended up breaking your hearts. if you love the day, had a fabulous affirming mom, had kids who all survived and have brought you incredible joy, maybe skip it:
I did not raise my son, Sam, to celebrate Mother’s Day. I didn’t want him to feel some obligation to buy me pricey lunches or flowers, some annual display of gratitude that you have to grit your teeth and endure. Perhaps Mother’s Day will come to mean something to me as I grow even dottier in my dotage, and I will find myself bitter and distressed when Sam dutifully ignores the holiday. Then he will feel ambushed by my expectations, and he will retaliate by putting me away even sooner than he was planning to — which, come to think of it, would be even more reason to hate Mother’s Day.
But Mother’s Day celebrates a huge lie about the value of women: that mothers are superior beings, that they have done more with their lives and chosen a more difficult path. Ha! Every woman’s path is difficult, and many mothers were as equipped to raise children as wire monkey mothers. I say that without judgment: It is, sadly, true. An unhealthy mother’s love is withering.
The illusion is that mothers are automatically happier, more fulfilled and complete. But the craziest, grimmest people this Sunday will be the mothers themselves, stuck herding their own mothers and weeping children and husbands’ mothers into seats at restaurants. These mothers do not want a box of chocolate. These mothers are on a diet.
I hate the way the holiday makes all non-mothers, and the daughters of dead mothers, and the mothers of dead or severely damaged children, feel the deepest kind of grief and failure. The non-mothers must sit in their churches, temples, mosques, recovery rooms and pretend to feel good about the day while they are excluded from a holiday that benefits no one but Hallmark and See’s. There is no refuge — not at the horse races, movies, malls, museums. Even the turn-off-your-cellphone announcer is going to open by saying, “Happy Mother’s Day!” You could always hide in a nice seedy bar, I suppose. Or an ER.
It should go without saying that I also hate Valentine’s Day.
Mothering has been the richest experience of my life, but I am still opposed to Mother’s Day. It perpetuates the dangerous idea that all parents are somehow superior to non-parents. (Meanwhile, we know the worst, skeeviest, most evil people in the world are CEOs and politicians who are proud parents.)
Don’t get me wrong: There were times I could have literally died of love for my son, and I’ve felt stoned on his rich, desperate love for me. But I bristle at the whispered lie that you can know this level of love and self-sacrifice only if you are a parent. We talk about “loving one’s child” as if a child were a mystical unicorn. Ninety-eight percent of American parents secretly feel that if you have not had and raised a child, your capacity for love is somehow diminished. Ninety-eight percent of American parents secretly believe that non-parents cannot possibly know what it is to love unconditionally, to be selfless, to put yourself at risk for the gravest loss. But in my experience, it’s parents who are prone to exhibit terrible self-satisfaction and selfishness, who can raise children as adjuncts, like rooms added on in a remodel. Their children’s value and achievements in the world are reflected glory, necessary for these parents’ self-esteem, and sometimes, for the family’s survival. This is how children’s souls are destroyed.
But my main gripe about Mother’s Day is that it feels incomplete and imprecise. The main thing that ever helped mothers was other people mothering them; a chain of mothering that keeps the whole shebang afloat. I am the woman I grew to be partly in spite of my mother, and partly because of the extraordinary love of her best friends, and my own best friends’ mothers, and from surrogates, many of whom were not women at all but gay men. I have loved them my entire life, even after their passing.
No one is more sentimentalized in America than mothers on Mother’s Day, but no one is more often blamed for the culture’s bad people and behavior. You want to give me chocolate and flowers? Great. I love them both. I just don’t want them out of guilt, and I don’t want them if you’re not going to give them to all the people who helped mother our children. But if you are going to include everyone, then make mine something like M&M’s, and maybe flowers you picked yourself, even from my own garden, the cut stems wrapped in wet paper towels, then tin foil and a waxed-paper bag from my kitchen drawers. I don’t want something special. I want something beautifully plain. Like everything else, it can fill me only if it is ordinary and available to all.
Well now, that's a bit harsh...Joe Guy wrote:Mother's Day is to restaurants what president's day is to mattresses.
When are mattresses NOT on sale?Joe Guy wrote:Mother's Day is to restaurants what president's day is to mattresses.
until I read those two posts...(in fairness to Long Run, he copied that from somewhere else...perhaps it does not reflect his personal views...)
Crackpot wrote:Odd segue
Followed by this:Lord Jim wrote:Good God, the one thing that is considered to be unassailable in this society, (to the point that it has become a cliche) is motherhood...
Next, I expect to see a spirited and detailed attack on apple pie...
I don't agree with all the sentiments in Anne Lamott's column, but she makes several good points (and I don't think she was condemning motherhood). First, the way the day is promoted can make for a painful day for the many kids who had less than adequate mothers, with the hyped-marketing message/assumption being that all moms were awesome. Two, the concept of mothering often extends beyond bio-mothers, and wouldn't it be better to be thankful for those other important women (and men) in a child's life. Thirdly, not to be PC about it, but the way the day is celebrated does seem to be exclusionary of women who did not have children, many of whom (as noted above), were and are important in children's lives. For example, while Sue may be the only American mom who posts here regularly (and she seems to be the excellent mom every kid deserves), we have heard countless stories from other women who have obviously had profound and parent-like impacts on children in their extended families. In general I don't have problems with these manufactured FFF days (forced family fun), whether it be Mother's Day, Father's Day, Grandparents Day, Valentine's Day, since it is good to stop and reflect on the good stuff in life. But it is fine to reflect without rose colored glasses.Lord Jim wrote: Frankly, I would not have thought it possible that someone could write a scathing condemnation of motherhood
It's not a scathing condemnation of motherhood, it's a scathing condemnation of the guilty encrusted, forced ceremony, of Mother's Day. If children truly care about their mothers -- I hear the word 'love' bandied about the most -- then Mother's Day would be unnecessary because every day would be mother's day. It's eerie that so many people need a yearly reminder that the woman who brought them into this world needs some kind of special attention. That one day a year cheapens the remaining 364. The depths of that kind of that kind of shallowness cannot be plumbed. DIXILJ wrote... Frankly, I would not have thought it possible that someone could write a scathing condemnation of motherhood... until I read those two posts...(in fairness to Long Run, he copied that from somewhere else...perhaps it does not reflect his personal views...)
We can pick any number of things that are "celebrated" and reduce them to "guilt and forced" for some part of the population.it's a scathing condemnation of the guilty encrusted, forced ceremony, of ......
I was fortunate to have been raised by the original feminist, way before Gloria Steinem. She graduated from CCNY at the age of 42, realizing that she was going to have to raise my sister and I alone. Then she got together with my stepfather, moved here, and took on his three daughters. (I recently heard someone refer to step kids as bonus children. I'd like to see that catch on.) She had a long and highly praised, although not highly compensated, career as a special education school teacher. I miss her too. I know I didn't do as good a job as I should have after she moved 350 miles away to be nearer to my older sister after my stepfather died. Frankly I'm glad my sister had all those "end-is-near" responsibilities. Visits were usually only two or three times a year, and then she died. Her last three years were tough, mostly wheelchair and bedridden. I still miss her. I know she appreciated the cards and flowers, and they weren't just on Mother's day.Lord Jim wrote: And then, as women did in those days, she gave up any thought of having a career and set herself to the task of raising four children...
It may be a "Hallmark Holiday" but as cantankerous and irritating as she could be, I still miss her...(and I think of her most on Mother's Day and her Birthday, which was December 13th)
