A Happy, Grouchy Mother’s Day to Me

All I want for Mother’s Day is to be left alone.

No “Mommy, you know what…”, “Mommy, can I…”, “Mommy, I want…”

Peace and quiet, a day of no worries. A day without hurrying or caring whether juice is spilled on the floor or if the kids have taken their vitamins. A day when my sleep hours depend not on the needs of others, or what’s expected of me. A day when I can watch what I damn well want to without anyone remarking on how sappy or shallow it is. When I can eat Lucky Me and spicy sardines and down it with regular Coke for breakfast, have french fries dipped in a hot fudge sundae for lunch, and hot n crispy fried chicken with real mashed potatoes slathered with sour cream for dinner…without anyone gasping and telling me: “Mommy! You’re going to eat that???” Damn right I am.

Forget the spa retreats and luxe mani-pedis in a room full of other chattering moms. For Mother’s Day, lock me up solo in a salon with a shampoo boy or girl with fingers of silk and steel. No hanky-panky involved—I just want a scalp massage under warm, running water, and doze off, mouth open, maybe even snoring. Don’t wake me up. NOT EVEN FOR PACQUIAO.

If you DO choose to speak to me, however, it will only be to ask whether I want something. Like: “Mommy, do you want more gravy for your chicken?” “Ma’am, more pressure po?” Or “Sweetly, is the room cool enough for you?” Declarative sentences like: “Sweetly, I’ll wait here until your massage is done” are also accepted. Otherwise, sshh…

It’s Mother’s Day. Shut up and leave me be.

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