Mother's Day Mania

I heard talk of hating Mother's Day start early this year. Mother's Day is not something that stresses me out. I had a wonderful mother, and setting aside a day each year to thank and honor her seemed completely appropriate.

Originally, when Anna Jarvis and others conceived of the idea, it was to simply honor your own mother. If your mother was alive, you wore a red carnation. If your mother was dead, you wore a white one.

I like that simple recognition that we each have a mother we should honor. I have actually worn a white carnation some years in the hopes that this observance would catch on again. But I seem to be the only one.

I once asked my daddy when Children's Day was, and he said, "Every day is Children's Day." I knew I didn't get tangible gifts every day, so it took me a few years to appreciate what he meant. I don't think it's bad for children to think outside their own heads for a moment once a year and give their mother a card, a flower, a gift of some kind.

When I was a little girl, this is what Mother's Day was. Sometimes we made something for her in school or church. Sometimes we bought something small. We gave it to her with love. Then we went to the cemetery so she could take some flowers to her own mother.

I find some of the ways Mother's Day has "crept" from its original intention silly and some amusing. Recently, a woman wrote to Miss Manners to angrily ask if it was too much to expect a card from her mother-in-law. After all, she was hosting a brunch for her. Miss Manners very correctly, of course, said, yes, it is too much to expect. The generations upward should be honored. Every woman who happens to be a mother should not expect gifts from every person she knows. I also find it silly to bend over so far backward not to possibly hurt any feelings that any female at all over the age of nine gets included in the recognition, taking all the meaning out of Mother's Day and leaving us with "Female Appreciation Day." Which could be something else altogether.

I think misplaced expectations account for much of the Mother's Day hostility. Misplaced expectations of what good mothers are like lead to guilt and misery. Misplaced expectations of what others "owe" us result in hurt feelings. I know a mother with a perfectly good family who becomes angry every Mother's Day when her good-but-imperfect husband and good-but-imperfect children fail to live up to her every expectation and fulfill her every fantasy. She thinks she shouldn't have to carry on that day pretty much the way she does every day--which is pretty much what mothers do.

I have consciously taken the opposite tack. I assume Mother's Day will be pretty much like every other day. The children will still need to eat. They will still need their shirts pressed and their diapers changed. I consider any effort on anyone's part to recognize me on Mother's Day to be something extra, and something to be appreciated. Instead of starting with my marker at the top of the glass and judging every effort to see if it measures up, I mark the bottom of the glass at zero. That way, anything that gets put in makes an improvement. I end the day happy and grateful. It never fails.

After all, no one is forced to do anything for me, and the more I tried to force being respected and recognized for my place in the family, the less it would mean, really.

Whether it's judging what the ward decides to do to recognize mothers (be it flowers many mothers know they will immediately kill or chocolate that someone doesn't like, is allergic to, or is afraid will make them fat), or casting an envious eye at other women's blessings, unlikely-to-be-fulfilled expectations just lead to unhappiness. Personally, I don't think it's the ward's place to recognize mothers. Although, it's been going on my entire life.

In my childhood ward, I remember the mother with the most children being asked to stand up and be recognized. It was always Beatrice Marchant, who had fifteen. After a few years, the bishopric caught on that it was always going to be Beatrice Marchant and stopped asking. (No one ever tried to compete with her.)

The point isn't for the world to see how many children you do or don't have. It isn't a competition. It's for each of us to appropriately look to our mothers, grandmothers, mothers-in-law, and/or mother figures, and simply say thanks. I find it much more satisfying to not think of Mother's Day in terms of me, me, me, but to think of those who came before me--what do I owe them? What can I learn from them?

I know there are cases where even this is difficult, but motherhood in general is a mostly-thankless position that should have a place of honor. And the stories of perfect mothers, I take with a large grain of salt.

I know wonderful mothers who have won prizes for their motherhood efforts. I know a lot more mothers who should win mother-of-the-year: for rescuing their children from an abusive home; for speaking to their children with respect even when in pain, or frustrated with them; for planning ahead to make sure their child will be taken care of in their absence; for creatively solving problems in the face of few resources; for teaching a child how to do things for her- or himself; for teaching their children generosity toward others; for treating a severely physically or mentally disabled child like the most beautiful, worthwhile person on earth; for making their children feel rich, even in poverty; for keeping their children--and themselves--out of harm's way.

I know perfectly good mothers who allow Mother's Day to make them feel rotten, who guilt themselves for all the things they are not doing instead of patting themselves on the back for the good things they are doing.

A rose is beautiful, but it is not the only beautiful flower. God made myriad beautiful flowers, each unique and lovely. Each mother is unique and lovely in her own way, too. Each one has her own beauty and gifts to offer. If we were all roses, we would be sick of roses.

We each have different challenges, different homes, different children, different marriages or non-marital situations. We each have our own set of strengths and needs. We are each of value.

I know mothers who work as part of taking good care of their children. I know mothers who choose not to work and enrich their children's lives in other ways. I know women who judge other women for working, or for not working. A mother with her children's best interests at heart deserves no one's censure.

I know mothers who have taken on rejected children with profound physical and mental disabilities, just for the experience of motherhood at any cost.

I know a mother who is crippled by a chronic disease and cannot perform any of the functions that she feels "normal" mothers perform, but whose patient and loving spirit is the most beautiful thing in her home. She teaches her children work and independence like most of us cannot. She teaches grace and love in the face of adversity--a rare gift.

I know mothers with clean houses, and mothers with clean minds.

I know mothers who never self-examine, and I know mothers who, in retrospect, review every moment of their child's life to find out where they went wrong in it. I know mothers who let go too soon and mothers who never let go. Motherhood takes thought, work, sacrifice, inspiration, and creativity like no other pursuit.

Good mothering requires balance. Time for oneself and time with the children must be balanced. How resources are spent must find a balance. Work and play must be balanced. Pursuit of spiritual, physical, academic, and creative goals must be balanced, and that balance must be taught. And each mother must find her own balance in her own way.

Let's include, not exclude. Let's embrace, not judge. Let's see each other as comrades, not competition.

For those who find Mother's Day an excruciating burden, I suggest we simplify our expectations for the day--how we think of and celebrate the day. We may not ever go back to simply wearing a red or a white carnation, but I hope we can pull back the "Mother's Day creep" toward greater and greater nonsense and simply smile at what is.

We're here, because we had mothers.