My Mama Don't Act Right

Y’all Mother's Day is looming, and my frustration is already sky-high.   Now, don't get it twisted; I LOVE my mama. She's my mama and apparently the reason I’m this fabulous, since I stole her whole face. But she doesn’t act right.  And Mother's Day becomes a production of forced and faked smiles. It's a whole lot of something, but not what I want it to be.

First of all, the pressure is immaculate. It's like, suddenly, I gotta transform from a grown-ass woman with kids, bills, a questionable (read non-existent) dating life, and rent due into a Hallmark card come to life. I have to find the perfect gift… for me, because let's be real, is usually regifted to me or my sister after it sits on the dining room floor for three months.   It can’t be cheap, because hell I’m grown enough to do better.   And the card? Forget it. "To the woman who gave me life" sounds a little dramatic, and "Thanks for not completely disowning me after I failed out of law school…”  or “thanks for using my personal life as your only brand of gossip," doesn't quite capture the sentiment.

Then there's the brunch. I know I sound crazy… but I WANT TO DO BRUNCH.  I want to sit outside all dressed to the nines with my mama and my sister and my kids!!  I want to experience the whole social event, but apparently, some of us are introverts (or reclusive) and that’s asking for too much.  I want to paint pictures and drink wine and talk the talk.  But we’re ordering in Chipotle, and my sister and I will be texting when the best time is to leave… without being rude or blocking the television.

And don't even get me started on expectations. Suddenly, I'm supposed to be all sentimental and mushy, like I didn't spend my entire teenage years rolling my eyes at everything my mama said. Now, I gotta wax poetic about her strength and grace? Girl, please. My mama's strong, alright. Strong enough to endure most of her life without a mother, a not so nurturing relationship, while raising three children. That's the kind of strength that deserves a vacation, not a cheesy poem, even still she aint flying, she aint getting on a boat, and she aint riding that far.

But the real kicker? The guilt trip. If I don't get the gift right, the card right, the taco salad, the WHATEVER right, I'm going to feel like it’s a let down for her. But I’m a mom too.  I want to enjoy my kids.  It's like, I love you, Mama, but can we just skip the bs stuff and go get some good food? Maybe some hibachi? Or a gift we can both appreciate.

So, yeah, I dread Mother's Day. It's a lot. It's a whole production. It's a reminder that I'm not a perfect daughter, and my she’s not a perfect mother, and sis is just trying to not get blocked in… lol.  But at the end of the day, I'll show up. I'll bring the gift (something I want). I'll endure dinner and tell my mama I love her, because even though this day is a mess, she's worth it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta go find a card that says, "Happy Mother's Day, you're not a regular mom, but I’ll cut a bitch for you," but, like, the clean version. Wish me luck. And send wine. Definitely send wine.