Played Hooky on Mother's Day. And It Was Divine.

We played hooky on Mother's Day, my pal Gayle and I.

We left six kids with their fathers to attend to their various sporting and other sundry activities while we, the moms, went to Fenway Park to see the Boston Red Sox demolish the Cleveland Indians in absolutely ideal baseball weather.

We enjoyed a fresh brew beforehand at the Boston Beer Works (I partook of some Fenway Pale Ale), compared tales of our Mother's Day morns where we both were treated to homemade breakfasts (mine included homemade waffles with cinnamon apple syrup, fresh strawberries and a big, honkin' mug of hot coffee) along with homemade cards and gifts. (I wore one of my new Red Sox T-shirts to the game.)

We sat through the entire baseball game without hearing anyone whine about anything. (I did receive a couple of panicked texts pleading for me to intervene in a dispute one of my offspring had with The Spouse, but I opted to remain above the fray.)

We only shelled out dough for food and drink when we wanted something.

We only visited the restroom when we needed to do so.

After the glorious ball game (the Sox were triumphant, 12-1), those in attendance were invited to take a jaunt on the field (alas, on the perimeter of field, not on the grass). Gayle and I, Sox fans since we were but small children, got to peer into the dugouts, pose next to the Pesky pole, touch the Green Monster (making note of the white and red marks the baseballs left behind when they hit it) and try in vain to see through the narrow opening in the infamous wall. (Pics to come later.)

When we both rejoined our families later that evening, we were both thoroughly content having not rushed nor scurried about trying to appease one small person or another. We didn't witness any parental temper tantrums on the sidelines of a youth sports game. It was a perfect day off from the daily routines of child-rearing, one I didn't realize I needed as badly as I apparently did.

We played hooky on Mother's Day. And we loved it.

Mother's Day & the 'Road of Pain'

Never let it be said that The Youngest Boy lacks the humor gene, or, to put it more accurately, the sarcasm gene.

During our very active Mother’s Day – we first went to church and participated in a cool thing called a flower communion and then played a cut-throat family game of Scrabble (seriously, there were tears, shouts and accusations of unfair play) – we decided to take advantage of the break in the rain to take a long walk, bringing Max the Mini-Wheat with us.

Both The Spouse and I had warned the kids ahead of time that we’d be going up and down some steep hills on this here walk of ours and that bringing their scooters might not be the best idea. But did they listen? Of course not. Walking's boring, or so I was told. Halfway up the first hill, The Youngest Boy declared that I had lead our pack down “the Road of Pain.” Dramatic much? The Spouse wound up walking The Youngest Boy’s scooter up that first incline.

You’d have thought that we were torturing them as we scaled yet another hill in our residential neighborhood as two of the three Picket Fence Post kids huffed, puffed, rolled their eyes and grimaced. For his part, Max was panting so heavily that his tongue was hanging out of one side of his mouth like a cartoon character.

Miraculously, by the time we made it back home, the children's energy level rebounded and they wanted to play a family game of Wiffle Ball, because what’s Mother’s Day with Wiffle Ball? Max, not so much. His stubby little legs were worn out and he promptly made himself into a first baseline hazard. The bottom line of the backyard contest: My team (me, The Girl and The Eldest Boy) did about as well as the Red Sox are doing.

Things That Bug Me About Mother's Day

I've been feeling rather Grinchy lately, as the ads and chatter about Mother's Day reaches its apex, though last night's episodes of The Middle and Modern Family provided me nice comic relief about the holiday.

Why? Let me count the reasons why Mother's Day bugs me:

1. The overcommercialization. Seriously . . . what makes some people look at a car wash and think, "Moms would like this"?

Here's a handy tip: Not every mom likes the color pink, stuffed animals, cleaning supplies or wearing a sweatshirt with a cartoon character on the front.

Another helpful suggestion: You know that ad you've been hearing on the radio about pajamas that are supposed to make Mom feel like a superhero, and those pajamas include a cape? No. Just. No.
 
2. The pressure. It's one thing to celebrate each person who is important in your life on his or her birthday. You call them, send them a card, maybe get them a gift or share a meal. But imagine if all those birthdays occurred on the same day and everybody wanted you to celebrate THEIR birthday with them? Madness, right?

That's how I feel about Mother's Day (and Father's Day for that matter). No matter what you do, you're bound to disappoint somebody. And I hate disappointing people.

3. The gift. Try to find an appropriate gift which says, "Thanks for putting up with my crap when I was growing up." A gift that you haven't already given your mom a thousand times before. Nothing can really do the trick or possibly express how much all that woman's efforts meant to you. I'd much prefer to put the time into a meaningful birthday gift rather than a Mother's Day gift for all the moms in your life (and your spouse's life) simultaneously.

4. The falseness. There are many stories I've heard from moms who've had utterly awful Mother's Day experiences where they've had to drag their very young rug rats to a white linen and real silver flatware restaurant for brunch and struggled to keep the children from chucking their food, knocking things over and navigating the buffet line without knocking that great grandmother with the walker over there into the tray of Belgian waffles. But those moms had to plaster a fake smile on their faces and pretend as though they were having a great time.

How come we never hear about Father's Day brunches? 'Cause they don't have to suffer through them. Instead, they get barbecues with hamburgers and hot dogs and chips. And beer. And baseball on the TV. I wanna trade.

Here's what I do like about Mother's Day:

1. The cute factor. When your kids are young, they really try, in the narcissistic way that children have, to do something for Mom, even if they need ample help from Dad to accomplish it. (This can also work for grandmothers with young grandkids too.) They hand you scrawled crayon drawings of you and the child holding hands and there are lots of hearts on it. They give you sticky kisses. The craft that they made at school is still wet with glue when they hand it to you in bed.

Once your kids are of driving age, that cute phase is long gone. That's when they get a store-bought card that's been hastily signed and read a text that just came in on their cell phone while you were reading their card. Then they ask you for the car keys.

2. The excuse it gives you for family time. Mother's Day is a great excuse to take a pass on crappy errands, tasks or things that you don't want to do (unless it's Mother's Day brunches) and just chill with your family. I, for one, like Mother's Day the best when it's ridiculously simple: I don't want to cook and I don't want to do dishes on that day (or any other day for that matter, but that's another blog post). We can just hang out or maybe walk around at a park if the weather's nice. Oh, and I want hugs and don't want to referee an argument about the TV remote.

What do you think of Mother's Day? Are you a fan or not so much?

It's worth noting that a writer on the web site Babble claims that the woman whose efforts led to the creation of the national Mother's Day holiday later hated what it had become and tried, in her final days, to have it abolished.