Ladies, We’ve Lost The Point Of Mother’s Day

When I became a mom back in 2007, one of the perks I was eager to partake in was Mother’s Day. After years of doting on my own mother and stepmother, I was at last able to become the dotee upon whom everyone showered praise approximately one day each year.

In the subsequent almost nine years since that rite of passage, it has become abundantly clear to me that Mother’s Day as we know it is utterly bogus.

I will undoubtedly receive flack for saying so, but Mother’s Day feels ridiculously self-congratulatory, needlessly expensive and laboriously dull. It has become a commercially-sponsored way to reward us for doing something that we are supposed to be doing anyway (parenting). It’s like getting flowers and a card one day each year for eating right or staying out of jail.

One of my favorite stand-up bits by Chris Rock sums up the thought, albeit less eloquently than I would put it. In the joke, he rebuked a man for proudly bragging that he takes care of his kids with, “You’re supposed to, you dumb (expletive)!” Mother’s Day has become the modern day way to say, “I take care of my kids” and anticipate breakfast in bed and a day at the spa in return.

I do, however, certainly understand why people love the holiday so much. We as parents don’t receive promotions or awards, and we are rarely evenly thanked for devoting two decades or more of our lives to raising our kids. But again, we’re supposed to.

Please don’t get me wrong; I’m not anti-Mother’s Day. I just feel we have overlooked the point of it, focusing rather on the obligatory gifts and its ho-hum pageantry.

Going forward, I would love to see a Mother’s Day makeover (no, not that kind of makeover). Rather than getting that new Pandora “Mom” charm or dinner at the Olive Garden on Mother’s Day, let’s go back to the original intent of the day when it was established in 1908 by Ana Jarvis.

Ana started Mother’s Day to honor her deceased mother by “continuing the work she started.” In that case, it was as a peace activist who cared for wounded soldiers during the Civil War. Ana’s sole intent was to simply honor the work of mothers and uphold her own mother’s personal mission to care for others. (Fun fact: Ana was later repulsed by the commercialization of the holiday and campaigned for its abolishment.)

I’m not suggesting everyone uphold their mother’s work by showing up at their jobs and taking over for the day. Further, I certainly won’t stop sending customary cards to my mother and stepmother (along with yet another apology for being such a pain as a teenager). However, I plan to tell my two children to wish me a Happy Mother’s Day and do something nice for someone else.

Rather than accepting flowers and spa certificates on Mother’s Day, wouldn’t it be great to ask our families to continue the work we find important? Our work as moms is endless. On the best days, it runs the gamut from weeding the garden and doing laundry to reading to our kids and spreading joy through laughter.

As a mother, I pledge not to sensationalize the holiday this year or use it as an excuse to sit on my tuckus and congratulate myself for keeping my kids alive for another year. I’ll be pulling those weeds, folding laundry, reading books and spreading laughter right there with my kids. That’s what I’ll be doing not only because I’m supposed to, but because that’s what I love doing, 365 days a year—even on holidays.

About the Author

Cathy Eng is a writer and mother to daughter Marlee, born in 2007, and son Kingston, born in 2009. A Smoky Mountains native, Cathy earned a journalism degree from the University of Tennessee before migrating south to Jacksonville. After five years in corporate communications, she left the business world to do more important work as a new mom. Cathy later embarked on her freelance writing career and launched a resume writing company Resume Rocketeer. She loves balancing the craziness of motherhood with the fun of freelancing – and helping other moms with everyday ideas and solutions. Her website is cathyengwriter.com.