Tag Archives: i hate mother’s day

Best. Mom. Ever.

I am using this title because I don’t know what to call this post. The original title choices were:

Called a Psycho Mom on Mother’s Day and am proud of it

but that would leave nothing of substance for me to write because the title is basically the story.

Possibly One of the Best Mother’s Day Cards

and that would most likely make my youngest child sad because he’s been planning his awesome mother’s day gifts for me for days

I love my youngest for remembering how to fold the crane after I showed him only once, and what my favorite candy is after I mentioned it in passing…

while his oldest brother admitted, with pride mind you, “Hey, mom. I made this card more than two hours before. Aren’t you proud of me?”

We all got a good chuckle again because we watched Psycho together last night and found it ironic and hilarious and maybe even fitting that Psycho was our family movie night choice on the eve of Mother’s Day. A discussion over “What is the best Mother’s Day movie?” continued over Mother’s Day brunch (yes, yes, how typically suburban…) and the Alien movie franchise was agreed upon as the best cinematic tribute to mothers. You want proof?

The fundamental myth in mothers (even surrogate ones) genetically coded to do anything to protect their young is obvious in this image chosen to promote Aliens.

Just look at Ellen Ripley, so deliciously played by Sigourney Weaver. (Most of us cheered when she uttered that famous line, “Get away from her you bitch!”) From the other side, didn’t the Queen Mother (the matriarch alien) fiercely protect the survival of her offspring? Not to mention all those scenes of forced cesarean births…

Instead of leaving you to ponder the above, I thought I’d leave you with something more lighthearted: “Mother’s Day Cards That Should Exist” (Thanks to Mary Lee for a great chuckle!)

[Disclaimer] I am fortunate enough to have a great mother-in-law. In fact, sometimes I think I like her more than her son… Those cards though funny do make me a bit anxious from imaging my future daughter-in-law wanting to send me one of those…

[Sidebar Convo]: Being an overtly protective 21-century mother who feels guilty if not doing some helicopter-parenting and also if not providing my kids with sufficient independence that I am, I have not allowed my kids to watch any scary movie such as Fridays the 13th and A Nightmare on Elm Street. They can decide to watch crazy horror films from Asia such as Ringu when they are adults, but never ever when they are still under my watch in my house. I’ve seen similar horror films when I was little and I regretted ever since. Till this day, the memories of horrifying images and scenarios stay with me, and they always resurface to the top of my consciousness when I am alone in a hotel room while on business trips. It’s very tough to be on intensive business trips if you can only fall asleep after 3 or 4 am from watching all the reruns of Law & Order you could find on cable. It’s ridiculous.

[One more thing] After the kids presented their mother’s day presents, we all looked at my husband. “Hey, I made you a mother!” I guess we should thank all the dads on Mother’s Day.

Just say NO to Mother’s Day

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Yes, I am the Grinch, Mother’s Day version. I wrote a whiny, bitchy, grouchy post on/near Mother’s Day every year. I thought about restraining myself this year because as we all know, bitterness is extremely unattractive. The problem with bitterness is that it easily borders on envy, and as we also know, envy is one of the seven deadly sins. (That being said, I still call bullshit on the killer’s motive in Seven…)

Unlike the optional Father’s Day that celebrates the underprivileged, undercelebrated fathers of the world, Mother’s Day is an internationally recognized holiday. My memory of Mother’s Day was forever ruined when I was a kid back in Taipei. In grade school, for Mother’s Day every year, a period would be scheduled for making carnations out of tissue papers and wires. Sounds fun, right? Now consider this: There is a suggested “rule” for the use of carnation: wear a red carnation if your mother is still alive; wear a white one if your mother has passed away. And imagine this: someone in your classroom had just lost his mother… Picture this: on every desk was laid out pieces of red tissue papers, except one.

I cannot recall whether the boy cried or not. But whenever I think of Mother’s Day from that day on, I see the white tissue papers on his desk.

And then I want to go back in time and punch those stupid teachers.

As I said, I was going to shut up about Mother’s Day and join in the festivities at least online. (IRL, I am working, and nothing has been planned to mark today any different from any other Sunday. In fact, I completely forgot about it for myself, and therefore I forgot to get anything for my MIL and my own mother. Yes, I can be a heartless bitch. I am very sorry, Mom. I really really am… One more thing, if I may ask, why is it MY job to remember Mother’s Day for MIL and Father’s Day for FIL? I love them dearly but still.) That is, until I saw this Forbes article about the founder of Mother’s Day, Anna Marie Jarvis. I knew that Jarvis campaigned to have a day established to commemorate mothers all over the world per her own mother’s wish. She asked people to wear carnations on this day in memory of her mother because carnations were her favorite. What surprises me, and should everybody else, is that Jarvis was outraged by the gross commercialization of Mother’s Day soon afterwards. “Jarvis detested the commercialism of what the day had become. With her sister Ellsinore, they spent their family inheritance fighting the day’s designation.” She dedicated the rest of her life to campaign against Mother’s Day, or probably more accurately, the gross commercialization of Mother’s Day.

A printed card means nothing except that you are too lazy to write to the woman who has done more for you than anyone in the world. And candy! You take a box to Mother—and then eat most of it yourself. A pretty sentiment.

So there you have it.

Jarvis would have been an awesome blogger, imo.

Did I ever mention that I have a pathological need to be liked? Ok, it may not be obvious considering how paradoxically I cannot help being a sarcastic bitch. Anyway, that need extends to my children as well. I don’t doubt that they love me, but LIKE is something else. You need to earn it. (Except on Facebook, I guess.) My decidedly unsentimental sentiment towards Mother’s Day aside, every year on this day, instead of expecting some obligatory adoration from my family, I become even more paranoid about how I have been performing as a mother. The self doubt becomes overwhelming as the day progresses and I just want it to end so we can all get back to our regularly scheduled programs. I was rescued from myself when Mr. Monk handed me a hand-made card with a twenty dollar bill inside. I burst into tears as I read the words. Maybe Mother’s Day does not suck that much after all.

p.s. But wait. What does he mean by “inside every dark world”? Is he saying that his world is dark? That he is unhappy? He’s not even 10 years old yet. What have I done to my child??!! Oh lord… The saga of my guilt trip continues…

Mother’s Day. Schmother’s Day.

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I am so glad Mother’s Day is finally coming to an end. In less than 30 minutes.

I was not going to write anything about Mother’s Day today. Apparently I have written several posts on how and why I hate Mother’s Day ever since I started blogging. The act of “Oh I don’t really care if you guys do anything for me on Mother’s Day” is painfully obvious to me yet maddeningly unrecognized by the others in this house. The angst is palpable.

The good thing is: The Husband happened to be out of the country for a big meeting attended by hundreds of engineers (yes most of them men) every Mother’s Day for several years now. This actually helped me relax. If he is not here, well, he cannot be expected to bring me breakfast in bed, can he?

To be fair, he did surprise me with a package from FTD this year:

I was not expecting anything, and fortunately I recognized the FTD logo on the box and decided to open it right away.

I remember the last time I received a proper bouquet was in 1995 when we graduated and moved into an apartment together. Giddy with excitement at the sight of these flowers sitting on the kitchen table, I was content with half an hour of this this morning and considered today a success…

Really, life is what you make of it. Make no big deal out of today, then today is not a big deal.

I cooked. I cleaned. I did the dishes. I picked up the house. I did the laundry. I folded and put away clothes.

Just like any other day.

It worked out better this way really since I’ve been wondering “What’s the point if I have to clean on the Monday AFTER Mother’s Day?”

Except that I am happy for The Husband that the following conversation did not happen today. Well, because he is not here so he could not have on Mother’s Day.

“Look at my arms! They are not that flabby, right?” I pinched my right forearm with my left hand and show it to The Husband. I continued, “I wonder why my arms always look so HUGE in pictures! They are actually kind of firm when I do this.” I then pinched my forearm some more.

“Maybe it is like the Kobe beef,” he said, after declining my invitation to pinch my forearm and see for himself.

“Huh?”

Pause. “Made with muscles and fat.”

5 seconds after I hit his face with a pillow…

“How about you treat me like Kobe Beef [sic]…”

“What?”

“Feed me beer and give me a massage!”

I did neither. It was not Father’s Day.

p.s. I do sincerely wish all the mothers, grandmothers, foster mothers, guardian angels out there a Happy Mother’s Day. I hope your day was full of relaxation and joy. More than that, I wish you a Monday After with NO increase in workload.

Running Away

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Did you ever consider running away when you were a child?

I thought I was the only one until I read this post by Matt Posky, talking about his failed attempts at running away (often thwarted by his mother’s playing along).

Running away.

When I was in kindergarten, I often wished I were adopted. (Let’s just say I have never had a warm, fuzzy relationship with my mother to begin with. Blogging made me dig deeper into my childhood memories and helped me come to realize this unfortunate fact of my life. More about that one day…) Later in elementary school, when the emotional bullying started, in addition to wondering about suicide, I thought about running away. A lot. Just so I did not have to go to school and face my tormentors. Fortunately for me, I was both lazy and weak therefore I never really did carry out the plan. I kept on putting my departure day off, for one excuse or another. Of course there were the usual rationalizations: Where would I go? How would I pay for anything? Where would I take a bath?

The thought of running away (and the failure to carry it out) continued into junior high. I could not remember why now, but I did remember vividly how I convinced myself to stay put week after week:

It was this television series. At that time, a TV station in Taiwan was finally allowed to show a television program from Hong Kong. It was an epic Wu Xia series; nothing like that has ever been show before. It was on every Sunday night. And it became a sensation overnight (with a reported rating of 70%+). When it was on, people rushed home to be in front of the TV and the streets were deserted. If you were unfortunate enough to be caught outside and needing a cab at that time? You were out of luck.

I too was swept up by the fever. I kept on putting off running away because I really wanted to see the ending of the story. Every Sunday the show ended with a dramatic cliff hanger. Will the hero choose this girl over that other girl? Frankly, that’s all I wanted to know: whom he ended up with.

There were 65 episodes…

I know I was projecting when I became alarmed at my youngest, Mr. Monk’s obsession with the Harry Potter books. When he was devouring the books in rapid succession, I thought I recognized the longing in his voice when he recounted some of the more memorable scenes. All of a sudden, I felt a pang in my heart, and I felt sorry for Mr. Monk for having me as a mother. For having to witness some of the ugliness that a long marriage is sure to produce from time to time, to time. For having to deal with my bouts of emotional-ness followed by nonchalance. I do not want that for my children yet sometimes I would recognize that what I am witnessing could be part of a cycle, passed down from generation to generation. When I do, I panic and I spew out what pops up into my head.

Me: Honey, I just want to let you know… I am sorry. But I really did give birth to you. You are not adopted. Your real family is here. They are not coming to get you. I just want to let you know so you are not disappointed. You have to work with what you’ve got.

Mr. Monk: Mom, I don’t hate you.

A note for my dear friends and visitors: I am sorry for MIA lately. Long story short: My company has been acquired and we have been going through the whole merger, learning the new everything while having to meet the deadlines of old everything. Plus, as some of you may have heard my S.O.S. on Twitter and Facebook: I was given a Macbook Air by the very generous new employer and I realized I am actually, much to my chagrin, a Luddite. I do not know why but the whole Mac thing completely threw me off the loop. I have been stressed to the point that I have become extremely distracted: so far I have got myself into a minor accident, forgot to pick up my child, forgot about another child’s school open house. Yes, I kind of just want to run away right now from everything, including my very cool-looking, gorgeous, fancy Macbook Air.

Mother’s Day Double Feature: Why I don’t deserve a holiday in my name

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This is the second part of a rare Double Feature, in celebration of Mother’s Day.

No, my dear readers, Chef Ping’s was sadly not on my itinerary… Not that I haven’t tried though. I decided at around 4 pm that yes, we are going to go to Chef Ping’s because It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to. We didn’t manage to get out the door until 5 pm because my kids kept on saying, “Ok. Mom. Ok. Just until I finish this episode, this game, this chat…”

We drove to Chef Ping’s, not without a passionate discussion on WHY. The wait was to be 30 minutes.

My dear readers, I lied in my previous post when I said “No expectations. No disappointment.” Apparently though I had no expectations for my children to behave differently from any other day, I did expect to be able to go to my favorite Chinese restaurant at 5 pm on a Sunday! I was devastated.

I forgot that today is Mother’s Day aka The Bane of My Existence.

Choking back tears that surprised even myself, I resigned, “Let’s just go home. I will make you guys food, and I will have ramen noodles.”

“Mom. Let’s just go to some other restaurant! Because now you are just guilt tripping us!” My 12-year-old said with keen perception.

I kept an eerie silence as I drove aimlessly home. But not before I yelled at the boys for the 258th time to please shut their mouths if they could not stop bickering. The passive aggression was so thick inside the car I could practically lick it.

But I did still need to feed them. Taco Bell! A 90-degree emergency left turn brought me to the drive-through window.

“Do you want any sauce with that?”

“Yes. Medium and mild please.”

“Ok. Mild and Hot. Here you go. Happy Mother’s Day!”

“Wow. That lady’s hearing was not very good.” My 12-year-old made another keen observation.

” *sigh* I am too tired to correct her. Sometimes I am so tired of living here.”

“Do you prefer to live in Taiwan?”

“To be honest with you, I don’t know what it is like to live in Taiwan. I have never had ‘lived’ in Taiwan for real… I don’t know. I was going to school, living with my parents, then I came here. I don’t think I know what it is like to live in Taiwan… It is confusing. I don’t know.”

“Yeah. It is confusing alright… Do you remember when you were a kid?”

“Yes. I do of course.”

“I don’t want to grow up.” My 12-year-old concluded after a pause.

“I hear you, honey.” Strike one, mom. Way to motivate your child!

“Being a grown-up sucks!” Interjected my 7-year-old.

“Being a grown-up is 99% of your life!” His older brother admonished him.

“Mom. Doesn’t being a grown-up suck?” My 7-year-old continued.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I think the sucky part of being a grown-up is mainly associated with being a parent…” Strike two. Good job, mom.

“HEY! Your life is going to be so boring and miserable if you didn’t have us!” My 12-year-old protested.

“Ha ha. You are right honey.”

“Have you ever wished that you didn’t have children?” My youngest pursued.

Beat.

I could not bring myself to answer this question. Strike three, mom. Let’s hope they turn out to be writers so they can use this episode in a positive way.

“I am sure she did when we really really pissed her off!”

So here I am. Making three different kinds of ramen noodles. But not before we went to Blockbuster, my youngest had a meltdown because he absolutely had to watch The Karate Kid III TODAY and his brother absolutely did NOT want to watch it, and my oldest and I had a passionate discussion on why we couldn’t rent Ninja Assassin…

What’s the point if I have to clean on the Monday AFTER Mother’s Day?

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Sure I can take a rest today. Sure I can go out and have fun and enjoy myself. (Well, I actually can’t since my husband left for Canada this morning… So I am single-parenting for the next ten days…) But really, if things are not taken care of at home TODAY, I know I have to do it TOMORROW.

What is the point?

I hate Mother’s Day.

I am celebrating it by allowing my children to be on the computer all day.

Ok. I don’t really hate Mother’s Day. Over the years I have learned to treat today just like every other Sunday. No expectations. No disappointment.

THIS is also the motto of how I live my life.

Although it kind of became worse when Mr. Monk threw a tantrum because he didn’t like the restaurant I suggested for dinner.

“I don’t want to go to Chef Ping’s!!”

“But today is MOTHER’S DAY!” I guess I can guilt-trip with the best of them.

“I hate Chef Ping’s!”

“Would you like a grilled cheese sandwich instead?”

“I WANT TO GO TO A RESTAURANT FOR MOTHER’S DAY! BUT I DON’T WANT TO GO TO CHEF PING’S!”

“You don’t eat anything else but white rice honey when we go to a Chinese restaurant!”

“NO! I DON’T! Wah wah wah wah wah wah wah wah…”

Oh lord. Will this day never end?

Flowers for me from my 7 yo. He took the picture also. This is one of the hundreds of pictures he took of the same subject

My mommy cooks. My mommy cleans. My mommy loves me.

My Mother’s Day Phobia

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It is the Wednesday after Mother’s Day and therefore I figure it is safe to reflect upon the impact of Mother’s Day on me personally, without the risk of being accused as mean-spirited, bitter, spoiled, jaded, or worse, unfit-to-be-a-mother…

Although I have always been moved by the origin of Mother’s Day, an internationally recognized and celebrated holiday nonetheless (unlike Father’s Day…), I really do hate Mother’s Day, if I may be allowed to be facetious. For myself.

I do sincerely celebrate Mother’s Day for all the mothers out there who so rightfully deserve well wishes on their special day. The Collective Mother. The concept of motherhood.

I appreciate the opportunity to wish all the mothers happiness, a day of relaxation, of recognition. I appreciate the fact that my mother-in-law is probably one of the best mothers-in-law out there and I am blessed in this regard. I appreciate the reminder that I owe my own mother thousands of apologies for all the pains I have caused her, and that maybe for once I can talk to her on the phone without hanging up in a hurry because someone in my house screams as if his leg is being sawed off, or in a huff because my mother says something that does not jive well with my pseudo-feminist sensibility…

“What are you going to do with the kids when you travel for business?”

“Hmmm, they have a father too?” Click.

I hate all the commercials that unfairly raise my expectations of what my husband and children would do to “honor me” on Mother’s Day. I hate my own passive aggressiveness:

“What do you want for Mother’s Day? What do you want to do for Mother’s Day?”

“Whatever. I don’t care.”

I hate my husband’s taking my reply literally after so many years of marriage. Come on, man, you know the passive aggressive bitch that I am. DO SOMETHING. Anything.

I hate despite all my jokes of “lowered expectations”, I cannot help but have that smidgen of hope, that maybe this year, something would be done. A surprise would be planned. The secret conversations. The furtive exchange of looks. The stifled laughter as they worked on a conspiracy. And I would pretend not to notice.

Like I said, I hate all those commercials that plant unrealistic expectations even when I try to be rational about it.

I once read that, statistically, more people committed suicide on their birthdays than any other day of the year. (Or did a college friend of mine tell me that? After he phoned to check on me, to make sure that I didn’t do anything stupid. I was full of angst in my youth. Hermann Hesse. My husband would not agree on Demian as the name for our firstborn. Lucky kid…)

The same agitation I feel on Mother’s Days. I wish I could just forget about it. DON’T PANIC.

The Absence of Alternatives

My therapy sessions…