Seaton: Poking the Bear, Mother’s Day

“Oh he’s gone and done it now,” I see a bunch of you thinking. “He’s going to poke the happily sleeping bear that is the holiday this weekend? What happened? Did he get dropped on his head?”

Well now that you mention it…

But I digress. Let’s get started poking this son of a gun, shall we?

Mother’s Day. The one day a year when we celebrate the person who brought us into the world and then spent the next 18 years trying to get us out of it. As a wise man once said, “A mother’s love is like a bad case of the flu—you can’t shake it, and it makes you want to vomit.”

This is the one holiday all year when we pretend we actually care about our mothers and act like good children. We send flowers, chocolates—hell, we actually call them for once instead of just saying “Mom, just leave a message or text me” like we do the other 364 days of the year.

Here’s a prediction I’m sure someone reading this will fulfill: one of you will give your mother the infamous handmade card. Yes I’m talking to you. The person who will write “I love you” in crayon and hope the woman who taught you to spell doesn’t notice all the mistakes. Because nothing says “I appreciate you and the contributions you’ve made in my life” like a card that looks as if a drunken toddler created it.

Take five minutes and buy a real card, genius. Thank me later.

And then there’s the Mother’s Day brunch. The one where you spend an hour waiting for a table, another hour waiting on food, and then another thirty minutes regretting you didn’t make the same meal at home for half the price. But hey you spent quality time with your mother fighting over who gets the last pancake.

Screw it, you know who the real heroes of Mother’s Day are? The dads.

Yeah, matriarchs, I said it. Fight me. We’re the ones who make sure the kids don’t burn the house down while they try to make you breakfast in bed, after all. Let me tell you, ladies, there’s nothing more romantic than waking up to the smell of burnt toast and the melodic sounds of your children arguing over who gets to use the fire extinguisher.

I have a friend who just lost his home in a fire but I’m still making that joke.
That’s how giving I am. You’re all welcome.

In all seriousness, Mother’s Day is a great opportunity we often neglect to really celebrate the person who’s always got our back and can make anything better with a hug and a cup of hot tea. Whether it’s a heartfelt message, a thoughtful gift, or just spending time with them, it’s important to take time this weekend to honor the incredible women who helped raise us.

To all the Moms out there reading this: cheers! May your weekend be memorable.
To the children of mothers out there: Go call the woman. She wants to hear from you and this parenting stuff is HARD.

That’s all for this weekend! Happy Friday and remember: no matter how bad your week’s been at least you’re not Mama June to your daughter’s Honey Boo Boo!

We’ll see you next week, everyone!

6 thoughts on “Seaton: Poking the Bear, Mother’s Day

  1. Mike V.

    I’d add this:

    Make the effort to her a hug and tell her you love her. The day will come that you won’t be able to. And then you’ll wish you could.

  2. Grum

    My mother intensely disliked the idea of Mother’s Day for some reason and would not have thanked me for celebrating it in any way. Perhaps she was taking the long view and didn’t want us to feel sad when it came around after she was gone. Instead, I had the satisfaction of being able to help her remain as independent as possible as she grew frailer before she passed, just before what would have been her 91st birthday.
    That said, I heartily endorse Mr Seaton’s advice as expressed above. Good parents are the best luck you can have in this life.

  3. Kathleen Casey

    My mother said Do not engrave Mother on my headstone. I am more than a mother. So we didn’t.

  4. Erik H

    Get out of earshot of your wife, and tell your mom that she is the best mom ever to walk the earth, superior to all other moms.

    You’ll be wrong, of course–that is only true of MY mom!–but I’ll let it slide 😉

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