I’ve always hated the idea of Mothers’ Day. It has always seemed so commercialised and meaningless. The recognition aspect has completely fallen by the wayside, and now it’s just about commercialism. Lately it seems to have got even more commercialised, so that it is now compulsory for all mothers to be taken out for a fabulous dinner (forget breakfast in bed).
I used to wonder whether I would miraculously convert to being in favour of mothers’ day once I became a mother, and hence eligible for all the pampering. I haven’t. Even when I was in hospital with a new baby on mothers’ day, I found the whole thing faintly ridiculous.
The one aspect of it all that has slightly crept through my barriers is loving the handmade things my boys are bringing home from pre-school and school. It was wonderful to watch C’s excitement as he told me not to look under his bed where he was hiding my present.
But I was soon brought down to earth as we were walking through our local shopping centre, with C (an early print addict) reading out all the mothers’ day ads and telling me that I must buy a card and present for my mother. Brainwashing starts young these days.