Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day are your two biggest Hallmark holidays, made up to drive sales of greeting cards and other things one generally doesn’t need. Do I sound cynical? Perhaps. But I’m a lot less cynical about Mother’s Day now that I am a mom.
Last year, for my first official Mother’s Day, I instructed my husband to “bring it.” And bring it he did, buying me a very expensive tablet which I wound up kind of hating and tossing his way as soon as Microsoft’s Surface came into our lives. I also “brought it” for Father’s Day, and after putting a significant dent in our pocketbook to pay the Hallmark piper, I decided that the first of these occasions would also be the last as an excuse to spend haphazardly.
I didn’t really get to celebrate Mother’s Day last year, save for unwrapping the tablet, as I was busy playing in a show. With no such plans for this year, I entertained visions of elaborate brunches and relaxing spa days, luxuries that don’t fit my personality but which are nonetheless staples of Mother’s Day. (Or at least, the hype surrounding it.) Far be it from me to keep silent about what I want, so this year I told my husband I was cashing in all my good will and Mother’s Day chips so he would take me to see The Great Gatsby.
Grandma babysat so we could go to lunch and then sit in giant, faux-leather reclining chairs in a newly renovated local theater. Despite lackluster reviews, I liked the film and thought it did as much justice to my favorite book as a film could. My fears were unfounded, my predictions spot on. And my husband, who had never read the book, seemed to enjoy it more than he thought he would. This is probably because he was pleasantly surprised it was a love story with a plot, and not one of my beloved, as he put it, “slice of life stories where nothing really happens.”
So that was my Mother’s Day. That and a new episode of Mad Men. Oh and flowers. What more could any mother ask for?