As a seasoned parent, I’ve navigated the typical Mother’s Day traditions—cherishing those handcrafted crafts featuring my children’s tiny footprints, and admiring the beautiful flowers my husband would leave on the dining room table. I even braved the chaos of a restaurant brunch once (a lesson learned there).
Now, after a decade in the parenting trenches, I’ve come to realize what I genuinely want on this special day. Surprisingly, it isn’t lavish jewelry or a luxurious spa retreat. I’m not drawn to fragrant lotions or perfumes either. My request is usually quite simple and low-cost, requiring minimal effort from my loving family, who often feel the need to express their gratitude alongside a light-hearted apology for the physical toll they took on me during childbirth.
Do I appreciate the handmade gifts from my kids? Absolutely. Last year, they compiled a list of everything they love about me, and my husband had it beautifully framed for our kitchen—a heartfelt treasure that brings me to happy tears every time I see it. Even the part where my four-year-old declared his love for me because I cook potatoes—a mystery, as I hardly ever do! And that quirky pottery piece my third grader made, which could either be a bowl, a cup, or a relic of the ’80s labeled an “ashtray”? I adore it.
Homemade cards? Yes, please. A necklace strung together with wooden beads spelling out “I love Mommy”? Bring it on! However, what I value the most is the opportunity to receive these tokens of affection early in the morning on Mother’s Day, shower my kids with hugs and kisses, and then bid them farewell.
It took time for me to come to this realization, and even longer to accept it. But here it is: the best gift I ask for every Mother’s Day is simply to be left alone.
No, dear family, I don’t want to navigate the brunch scene, showing up late and irritating the teenage hostess because we can’t find shoes, only to deal with a toddler who needs to use the restroom multiple times and a son who spills half his meal and whines about his orange juice being too pulpy.
As for breakfast in bed—forget it. If my kids attempt to carry a syrup-laden plate upstairs, it will end in disaster. While the flowers are lovely and make me feel cherished, if you want to spend a little cash on me, I’d truly appreciate some cozy new slippers and fresh sweats that won’t embarrass me at school drop-off.
After bringing three babies into this world within five years and spending countless hours, day in and day out, with little ones who seem intent on climbing back into my womb, I eventually woke up one Mother’s Day and asked for a day off. A day where no one needed me to wipe their bottoms or cater to their whims. One day without hearing “Mommy” echoing through the house ad nauseam.
Initially, I felt the need to justify my request. “I just need some new jeans,” I’d say sheepishly. But now, my family knows the routine. On Mother’s Day, I assertively declare, “I’m leaving!” and they understand they won’t see me again until the day is over. I might indulge in a fancy coffee or spend some quiet moments reading or scrolling through my phone. Perhaps I’ll treat myself to a shopping spree (those jeans are still needed) or get a manicure. I could go for a jog, a hike, or just enjoy a lazy day bingeing on fried cheese.
The important thing is, that day is mine.
It took me a while to recognize that solitude is what I truly craved. I used to dread being alone, finding the silence unsettling, and feeling lonely without human interaction. But motherhood has transformed me. Now, I cherish the quiet moments, wrapping myself in them like a luxurious cashmere blanket.
Naturally, I had to overcome the guilt that often accompanies such desires. My husband requests quality family time for Father’s Day, so why shouldn’t I want the same? Perhaps it’s because he escapes to the adult world during the week, sipping hot coffee and not being bombarded with endless reruns of children’s shows. That’s not what I seek, and that’s perfectly fine. After experiencing my first Mother’s Day of solitude, any lingering guilt quickly faded away due to the sheer bliss of it all.
Rest assured, I’ve already made my request for this year. It’s marked on the calendar, and my family knows that I expect very little from them, except for one thing: leave me alone for an entire day. Dad’s in charge. Whether they devour eleven donuts, skip tooth brushing, or lounge in pajamas playing video games, I genuinely do not care. The only condition is that they don’t call me unless someone is in urgent need.
So, see you after bedtime, my loves. And thank you for my Mother’s Day gift—it’s precisely what I desired.
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In summary, the essence of Mother’s Day for me lies in the gift of solitude, a day to recharge away from the demands of motherhood, where I can indulge in my own desires without guilt or interruption.