Mother’s Day is once again upon us. A holiday proposed by Anna M. Jarvis to honor her mother that was so quickly perverted into a money-making scheme for the floral industry that she later sued to have Mother’s Day eradicated. She even went to jail over it. We are not kidding. We looked up the history and ranted about it (extensively) here.
But apparently the force is strong with the floral lobbyists, because Ms. Jarvis was no match for the ball she started rolling, since to this day we are expected to shower and be showered with gifts. Now we are suckers for homemade cards, dandelion bouquets, and macaroni tiaras because they are kid-sourced and from the heart. However, let’s just say some of the other store bought gifts and gestures might not exactly hit the mark. We’re looking at you, dads and other significant others who get involved.
We do appreciate the effort, but maybe you should save us all some time, hassle, and money, and simply toss the kids some construction paper and markers–but for the love of crafting herpes, NO GLITTER! So if it’s the thought that counts, tally up these thoughts moms have about certain presents. Let’s just put it out there that some gifts and gestures might not be saying what you think they’re saying.
1. Fresh Flowers
Wow. Not only did you forget about my raging allergies, you have given me yet one more thing to keep alive in the house. So if it comes down to the flowers or the cat, which should I choose? The litter box is pretty nasty. Hmmmm.
2. Shrub
Okay, so now I’m not only pressured to keep something else alive, I have to sweat through my granny panties to get it in the ground. A gift that has never-ending responsibility, requires tools, a hose, and heavy lifting? Um, thank you?
3. Breakfast in Bed
No stone-cold slice of bacon or dried-up piece of toast is worth the mess I will face in the kitchen.
4. Coupon Book
Oh thanks, nothing says love and “Mother’s Day is today?!” more than empty promises. Combine this with the deed to a castle and the registration papers for a unicorn and I’ve got me one humdinger of a gift.
5. Jewelry
Thanks for noticing I haven’t worn a piece of jewelry since I birthed spawn from my loins. Ripped earlobes and strangulation just aren’t that appealing to me. Strange, I know.
6. Designer Chocolates
You know I’m on a diet! Wait a minute . . . did you all just want a box of fancy chocolates for yourselves? If life is like a box of chocolates, then I just got punked.
7. Blender/Waffle Iron/Crockpot/Vacuum/Toaster
If your “gift” is part of a chore for me, just turn around slowly and put it back on the shelf . . . OR someone might get hurt. I don’t even care if it’s cute. On second thought, if this is your clever way of telling me you got me lifetime maid service, then proceed.
8. Perfume
Once again, allergies. And if you all just picked up your stinky socks, you wouldn’t have to depend on my hygiene to make this abode a fresher place to live. I swear, the pressure to make your lives great is never-ending.
9. Books
How dare you! No, just kidding. A book is actually gift perfection, and if you combine it with a locked door and a cup of hot tea, you’ve just won yourself “Kid of the Year.” Might we suggest a few books any mother would love?
Sometimes you are so busy in the month of May that the words don’t flow so you have to search for a little inspiration. Sometimes you have to turn that inspiration on its ear. Sometimes the whole exercise gets you more for Mother’s Day than you bargained for . . .
Erin:While tooling around the internet a while ago I came across this prompt: “Ten things I really like about myself.” I thought we should do it. It would be a positive and upbeat sort of blog post.
Ellen: Yeah, I’m all for Girl Power but I wasn’t quite so positive. I said, “I’m tired of talking about us.”
Erin:That is a weird attitude to have as a blogger, right?
Ellen: So I suggested, “Why don’t we ask our KIDS what they think is good about us?”
Erin:And I said, “You go first.”
Ellen: So that night as we were winding down and getting ready for bed, I asked my daughters, then thirteen and eleven years old, “What do you like about me?”
The calm evaporated and they charged up like someone had just changed their batteries. Apparently asking adolescents for their opinions about their parental unit can set off a three ring circus.
Erin:People like to give opinions, who knew?
Ellen: I pointed to my youngest, “You go first.”
She replied, “You buy us Cheez-its three boxes at a time.”
I sighed heavily. This was not going to be the “Hallmark Tribute to Mom” I was looking for. But I’m no quitter. I tried again. “But what do you like about ME, beyond what I buy for you? You know, the inner me?”
Without missing a beat, she said, “You have intestines.”
Erin:You have to admire her comedic timing. Badum-CHING.
Ellen: But my girl has a heart of gold so she threw me a real bone, “Your fashion sense isn’t embarrassing.”
Erin:It may sound like a backhanded compliment, but coming from an adolescent girl, that right there is like an Academy Award, a Nobel Prize, and an Olympic Gold all rolled into one.
Ellen: She went on to say, “You do doctor stuff like healing my wounds.”
I decided not to comment that these two things don’t even belong in the same sentence. I’m glad I kept my mouth shut because here’s what came next: “I like that you made me.”
I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t swell, BUT I also saw this as a perfect time to quit while I was ahead with her, so I turned to her sister, “You’re up.”
She left the gate galloping: “You’re able to persevere through anything.”
I was ready to leave it at that, but she thought for a moment and added, “You don’t get all uncomfortably up in my life. You’re also very creative with your blog.”
Erin:Okay, that sounded a little more teen-like, but extra points for the blog compliment.
Ellen: And she still wasn’t done. She further amazed me when she completely shed her cloak of teen self-absorption and asked me, “But what do you like about yourself, Mom?”
Well, well. I guess I was going to answer Erin’s prompt after all. So I said, “I like that I can pretty much do anything I put my mind to.”
And my oldest replied immediately, “Yeah, I can see that.” Her sister’s head bobbed in agreement.
Once again, wow. Validation was mine, reflected back to me by my daughters’ words. I thought, “This was a GREAT exercise!”
Erin:And after Ellen told me this story, I thought, “I want this in my life, I need this in my life.” Plus I have five kids who at the time ranged in ages from four to fourteen years old. I had a larger pool to draw from. My answers were going to be even better.
Let’s just say my first thought after my crew reported what they like about me was I understand why some animals eat their young.
To be fair, we were all sardined into the minivan on a multi-state, endless car trip when I turned off the DVD player and yelled over the ensuing din of protests, “So what do you think is great about me?”
Erin’s family can fill a minivan. To the brim. We really should start a collection to get them a Patridge Family bus.
Erin: It became deathly quiet. As in they were either heeding the age old advice “If you don’t have anything nice to say don’t say anything at all” OR they were finally overcome by the smell of feet and stanky sports equipment.
You could hear crickets chirping.
Then, from the deep back bench, my oldest son, the one I labored with for twenty-seven hours with no drugs and gave me a grade four tear, said, “Well, you make great chocolate chip cookies.”
Ellen: He was fourteen after all. All boys think about is food.
Erin:I will never wear a two piece again because of that child and that’s all he’s got?
I started to say something, when Son Number Two piped up, “You’re a great baker. You make great chocolate chip cookies.”
I thought, “Okay, slacker, your brother just said that.” Such a middle child. The Brady Bunch Jan Syndrome is real, people.
Then my still sweet as pie eight year old boy chimed in with “Hmm, let me think . . . you make great chocolate chip cookies.”
Really, boys? Where’s the love?
Now, I know the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach and my cookies ARE damn fine, but where was my “Love Song to Mom”? Where was my “Ode to the Woman Who Gave Me Life”? Why did Ellen get unicorns and rainbows and I was left choking on stale cookie crumbs?
So I decided to be a little more instructive. I offered them some examples, sharing what Ellen’s girls had said.
NOW the girl child, who had just turned thirteen, was right with me. She was on board. “You’re a creative writer, a good friend to everyone, you stay fit, and have a good fashion sense. Oh, and you make really good chocolate chip cookies.”
Ellen: Hmmmmmm, that all sounds very familiar.
Erin:Note to self: Explain to her some of the finer points of plagiarism.
But there was still hope! My sweet baby boy had not answered yet. The one who considered me the most beautiful woman alive and still thought the world revolved around me could surely deliver the gem I was hoping for. And then this:
“You are really good at yelling at Daddy.”
Well isn’t that the piece de resistance? I feel like I need a disclaimer here: WE WERE ON A CAR TRIP! I was driving.
Ellen: Why did you ask on a car trip?? A miserably long car trip? Timing is everything and yours was pitiful.
Erin:But seriously? Are you kidding me?? The whole carload of them thought they were a total hoot and raucous laughter ensued.
Ellen: They were pretty funny.
Erin:So to summarize, Ellen’s kids will be picking her tiara up from the jewelers any day now and MY kids want me in their own little sweatshop churning out the baked goods.
Ahhh, sweet motherhood.
Ellen: There are no report cards, Mother’s Day performance reviews, or gold stars for parenthood, but you can always ask your kids how you’re doing.
And here we go again folks. The Mommy Wars never seem to go away. They just keep popping up on different battlefields. Just when you thought Stay-at-Home Moms vs. Working Mothers was finally relegated to the history books and the Bottle vs. Breast treaty was signed, we have You’re Not Cherishing Motherhood Correctly with side skirmishes breaking out over You’re Not Blogging About It Right.
Judging women’s adequate appreciation of motherhood happens on a daily basis, but around Mother’s Day, the blog chatter often reaches fever pitch. This year, writers and commenters alike were stirred up by the idea that true bliss was getting away from your kids on this holiest of card store holidays. There were the posts that humorously extolled this thought, often to the tune of viral page hits, and there were those who condemned the notion or at the very least tsk–tsked with the vehemence of a gaggle of old-school librarians.
Now I’m not saying you have to find satire of Motherhood amusing. I in no way think that every brand of humor tickles every funny bone and I feel that every blogger is entitled to write about things they don’t like. You can even simultaneously dislike aspects of Motherhood AND genres of humor. See what I did there? Supported freedom of speech and created common ground.
What is irritating me with the power of a thousand sand fleas is the thinking that if you sardonically poke fun at Motherhood, you hate it, if you are snarky you are promoting negativity, and . . . what about the children!?! What a. bout. the. chil. dren? You are blogging about Motherhood incorrectly!
Madonna Motherhood–let’s call her Mitsy so we don’t get her confused with the pop icon or The Blessed Virgin– must be working out because she is trying to climb back up on that Perfect Mother Pedestal with all her might. Surely, I cannot be the only one who remembers that a mere generation ago it was blasphemous to admit that motherhood wasn’t all sunshine and buttercups? Women suffered in silent isolation and they kept their ovens clean while they did it, dammit.
And it was unhealthy as hell because you know what? Kids can be narcissistic Napoleonic assholes. The wrong way to pop your cork is by screaming at them, beating them or drinking your way to oblivion. I embrace the blessedly benign in vogue way to deal with it–write a damn funny post for the whole internet to commiserate with and enjoy on their electronic devices of choice.
These posts go viral not because we are a doomed society feeding off of negativity, but because they are release valves for all the pressures of Motherhood. This gig brings high stakes. You are responsible for the development – physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual – of other human beings. I worked some time in one of the premier trauma centers in the country and only Motherhood crumpled me to the floor sobbing in the fetal position. Mitsy is a bitch with a baseball bat she is not afraid to use.
Trench humor naturally develops to deal with pressure. It can be gritty, it can be harsh, but it can be oh so cathartic. It’s honesty peels back the sanctimonious sheen and allows you to process and let go. The first time I had to pronounce a death as a medical student, my more senior resident tapped on the side of the body to simulate a heartbeat as I laid my stethoscope on the gentleman’s chest. Was it crass and tasteless? Yes. Did it convert my angst to outrage and then to laughter? Yes. Most importantly, it allowed me to go out to that man’s family and be what they needed me to be.
Is it really so different for Motherhood? Can we agree that it’s okay to release the pressure with a guffaw and then move on to be the persons we need to be for the little ones in our care? Motherhood is one of the toughest jobs you are supposed to adore 24/7. “Can I just go to the bathroom alone?” has become the universal battle cry because it’s just so ludicrous that a vocation consumes you so completely that you can’t even take care of your bodily functions in peace.
So, please don’t shame the humor that gets me though my day. You know what? I don’t need help cherishing the preciousness of it all. I get it. I got it. It makes it all worthwhile and I embrace it with a Hallmark-worthy hug.
What I need is help getting Madonna Motherhood, excuse me, Mitsy, to chill out and stop tripping me up. And in regards to the trauma to my kids from reading my snarky humor? My gift to my daughters is that Motherhood doesn’t have to be perfection and that their momma has been there and done that and will be ready to throw them a life preserver when their time comes. No scrambling onto a pedestal required.
We’re having deja vu here. Last year, we asked our kids what they thought of us. To summarize, Ellen’s kids thought she looked like this:
Erin’s kids thought she looked like this:
My Kids tell me I look like Betty Crocker
Yeah, that’s right. One of us got the better end of that stick, but nobody’s keeping score. Jealousy is an ugly thing even when you just can’t help it, and especially when Fate seems to treat one Sister like a princess and the other like, well, the ugly stepsister. Apparently, Fate wasn’t finished doling out the special treatment either.
This year, Ellen didn’t have just a great Mother’s Day. She got an amazing Mother’s Day weekend. Friday night was tennis, wings, and a movie with her crew. Put that in your pipe and paint it, Norman Rockwell. In other news, I was busy decorating a gym for the eighth grade dinner dance.
But that’s not all. Ellen hates with the heat of a thousand burning suns going out to eat in a restaurant on Mother’s Day. The runny eggs and lukewarm home fries combined with being crammed in like cattle results in a recipe for food poisoning and familial Armageddon in her book. So her family, in deference to her wishes, all went out to eat on Saturday which is not only sheer genius, but a lovely gesture that proves she has not just been grumbling to herself the last 14 years. She had a lovely lunch with her girls and her mom and managed to avoid being felled by salmonella or e.coli. Call Ripley’s Believe It or Not!
But the creme de la creme was her Sunday. Her Day of Blissful Nothingness began with her sleeping in way past her usual time when she was awakened to her family making her breakfast. At this point, her day morphed into “The Day that Shizz Which Never Gets Done Got Did!” Her husband, Frank, who could be described as Husband-of-the-Year but never Mr. Handy-Around-the-House was in rare form. He trimmed shrubs, pulled weeds, and even took out a small bush–better than any coffee mug or perfume by far. Yes, Ellen did feel the tremor in the universe, but she decided to take it for what it was, a Mother’s Day miracle.
This is what a perfect Mother’s Day looks like!
Aww, shucks.
Erin’s Mother’s Day was, well, slightly more, how shall we say, real.
On Friday night, Steve asked me, “So what do you want for Mother’s Day?”
Them’s words that make a woman wanna grab her gun and get moving!
Less than 48 hours until the big day and we’re still talking gift ideas!? Hmmmmm.
So I countered with “A dog. Or a trampoline.”
Two soccer games, one track meet, and a middle dinner dance later, on Sunday, we were pointing the minivan westward to visit my family. After the 10th trip to pack the car, the crew was waiting for me with a beautiful plant for the front porch.
Aww, shucks.
But nothing says “I love Mom” like a trampoline, so we were on a mission. Because we live in the middle of a county with more cornfields than shopping malls, we stopped just long enough in the “big city” (Google Frederick, MD to really appreciate my hyperbole) to pick up our trampoline. As the men were loading our 400 pounds of trampoline into the trunk, they said, “Good luck getting that out!” That is exactly the kind of humor we’re looking for when we’re driving with 7 people 4 hours round trip in 1 day. It’s the kind of math that makes you long for the days of algebra.
The rest of the afternoon was spent cousin-ing at my parents’ house. The following is a montage of images from that day.
We call this one, “Baby Licking Window”
We call this one, “Pile O’ Kids”
We call this one, “Twirly Girls”
I call this one, “Mama Love”
In many ways, the whole day was the sweet, cracked family moment I have come to expect. But when we got home, I got my real gift. My boys armed with headlamps and flashlights worked from the moment we got home into the night to set up my present for me. In case, you were wondering, true love looks like this. . .
Because Facebook doesn’t show all of our followers all of the awesomeness all of the time we have . . .
The Lucky Duck Edition
This is our 13th Facebook Follow-Up Friday! We are aware that no good usually comes from the marriage of Friday and the number 13, but things are different here in The Sisterhood. We have got your back and for that you are one lucky duck, er, follower.
We are always at the ready with. . .
Some Great Advice
And this one could save your life. Ellen’s shared a PSA reminding everyone to have a skin cancer check, because May is Melanoma Awareness Month, and, oh yeah, this is probably the easiest piece of preventive medicine you can do. Make your appointment today!
Please click on this graphic to Pin it to spread the word!
Just in time for Mother’s Day, we’ve got the Mother of all Pintershits with this Anti-Guide to Gift-Giving. We are here to keep you on the right side of your Mom’s affection, so heed this advice. We are also here for some laughs and this piece is sure to tickle your funny bone . . . if it doesn’t scare the bejeezus out of you.
And . . .
We Weren’t the Only Ones Celebrating Mother’s Day With a Blog Post
Because this is your lucky day, we’ve rounded them up for your reading pleasure.
And to take this into another dimension, we’re including a wrap-up from My Life and Kids of Anna’s favorite Mother’s Day posts . . . and she included us! So, here is us looking at her looking at us looking at her: All Things Mother’s Day.
And . . .
Memes You All Loved
Coffee and alcohol in one meme. Can you say SUPER-lucky???
A meme that just nails it and drives the point home! Score!
And because Mother’s Day is Sunday, a meme that tells it like it is.
And we were lucky too because there are more of you to love!
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We have a love hate relationship with Mother’s Day. We are both blessed to have our mothers and we adore our kids, but May is just so overwhelming. With the dances and the plays and the banquets and the tournaments and the weddings and the graduations, we feel like we could meet ourselves coming and going.
This May is so hectic, we’re really too tired to even get on a good rant about it. Eh, we did it last year and it still applies. Our favorite part is that the creator of Mother’s Day was driven crazy by Mother’s Day. She died blind, poor, and childless. Go read all about it.
We were going to be more positive this year and write a list of fabulous Mother’s Day gifts, but the brilliant Karen Alpert of Baby Sideburns beat us to it with her hilarious post, Ten Things I Really Want for Mother’s Day. Just to seal the deal that you click on over to read it, here is number seven on her list. But you need to pinkie swear promise that you will come back because we plan on hitching this post to the hilarious train. We swear.
7. I want to pee and poop alone. I will prepare for the day by downing a tanker truck full of liquid and eating ridiculous amounts of fiber.
Thanks for coming back. We knew you loved us. And we won’t disappoint you because we decided to go the way of Pintershit for this one.
1. Nothing “As Seen on TV”
Ellen: Whoa wait! Why is this first on the list? I got one of those Perfect Brownie Pans one year and I love it! I can make 18 perfectly sized, moist and chewy brownies, each with perfect edges every single time!
Erin:Do you have a side job as a spokesmodel? I was thinking more along the lines of this beauty. I picture myself with a dandelion puff of a rat’s nest after using this. Your head of matted hair would be spectacular. It would give new meaning to the saying, “My hair looks like a cyclone hit it.”
Ellen: Okay so this is kind of bad, but on the other hand they are kind of winning me over with the word “luscious.” But on the other other hand, it kind of looks like some deranged Barbie themed breastmilking device. But just for the record, “As Seen on TV” doesn’t mean it’s necessarily bad. I’m also the proud owner of a Snuggie and Footie Pajamas – complete with a trap door. See?
Me and Macklemore are gonna pop some tags.
Erin:This picture right here might be all the Mother’s Day gift I need.
Ellen: You’re welcome. By the way, Kids, don’t listen to Miss Erin. I’d totally be into the Air Curler.
2. A No For Everyone but Ellen
Erin: Based on the footie pajamas, I’m assuming this would be a hit with you.
Ellen: Hellz yes. I pray I get this to scare the bejeezus out of you when we go camping together. THAT would be the best Mother’s Day gift ever for me.
4. Nothing that is Really About Our Kids’ Interests
Erin:We support our kids, but we do have our own interests. Mother’s Day should be about us, not about us ONLY having identities through our children. For example, we try not to take the “sports mom” thing too far.
Erin:We’ve been at this mothering gig for quite a while, you can’t fool us.
Ellen: Our kitchens would so look like a typhoon hit a garbage dump.
Erin:And we would so have to clean it up. I can’t even think about the puddles of syrup. No freakin’ pancakes are worth this. Just let us get our own cereal. We’re good.
Okay, on that note we’re done with the anti gift guide. So what do we want?
Ellen: I like my Mother’s Day simple and my gifts sweet. One of my favorites were these “Sweet Hearts” that my youngest made them for me.
Erin:They are adorable. I like my gifts simple and sweet too. Here’s my list: Kelly Moore camera bag, sports lens for my Nikon, and a remodeled bathroom.
It’s the beginning of the month and that means it’s Finding the Funny time! But this new month is May, so it’s honor all the mothers time, too! Well, here at The Sisterhood you can have it all.
We don’t ask you to link back to us or include a button on your blog, but we do ask you to send out a tweet or post about the party on your Facebook page. Be sure to use #findingthefunny.
It’s Mother’s Day, and in the midst all of the heartfelt sentiment and beautiful displays of affection, we have a little something, something to get off our chests.
We love everyone in our lives who has a uterus: our mothers, our mothers-in-law, my sister, our children, our aunts, our sisters-in-law, and even each other. Truth be told, we have had lovely celebrations on that Sunday of Sundays, but you know Mother’s Day can make you a little twitchy.
Don’t deny it.
So if you too have a little Mother’s Day rant in your heart, come sit next to us and let us tell you a story . . .
Erin—May has caused Ellen to crack. She has rounded the bend. She has flown off the merry-go-round. She has left the building.
She just whirled through my house Tazmanian-devil style, and now she is sprawled on my couch like she is paying me by the hour.
Ellen— My calendar is killing me! The activities themselves—they’re pretty wonderful—but they are crammed into my schedule like clowns in a Fiat.
Erin— And they keep coming one after another in a relentless assault on time, patience, and sanity. It can make you feel a little overwhelmed and under-loved.
Ellen–It makes ME feel like I have an elbow lodged up my arse.
Erin— Melodrama much?
Ellen—Where’s the love? I have a to-do list from here to Tuesday that isn’t going anywhere, and I have shot myself in the foot because I left my ever-loving purse at home. So now I must drive past the nursery, because I can’t even buy my Mother’s Day plants. One more thing unchecked on my to-do list. One more reason to sink into this couch and hide.
Erin– I did offer to give you money…
Ellen– … but your four crinkled dollar bills and Wal-Mart receipt would not have taken me as far as I needed to go.
Erin– You know MacGyver could fashion one beauty of a Mother’s Day gift with a pack of gum and some duct tape.
Ellen – Oh, I know what I could do with some duct tape right now. I’m giving you notice. Forget that other idea we had for next week’s post!
Erin— The one we both agreed was perfect and reasonable, and oh, how shall I say it, sensible?
Ellen— Forget all of it! This is going to be my finest hour.
This is going to be . . .
Erin— Your Alamo. (Ellen’s look of death) Still not helping?
Ellen–This isn’t my last stand. THIS is going to be my “whipping” post.
Erin– Oh, that’s sooo much better (read sarcasm LOUD AND CLEAR) but remember Ellen is fraying at the edges, so let’s just humor her.
Ellen— Mother’s Day is like a snake eating its tail! The celebrated are the celebrators, and the end result: You just get bitten in your butt.
Who are you? The guest of honor or the party planner? We’ll tell you WHAT you are! Bitten in the arse is what you are.
Who started this holiday anyway? I think it was a Hallmark Conspiracy.
Erin – There is something kind of messed up about a holiday where you are supposed to be the guest of honor AND the party planner.
But the cards the kids make are cute and sometimes they give flowers. And don’t forget the chocolates.
Ellen–Oh, yes, they are just the best (read MY sarcasm Loud and clear), says my fat derriere. ‘Cause nothing says “I love you” like an extra inch on the hips.
Erin—This is worse than I thought. She’s turning on chocolate.
Ellen-Where can we stop the honoring?
Erin– Seriously, who gets to wear the tiara on the “big day?” Since Hallmark pretty much includes any person with lady parts on the list of honorees, it makes it a little tough to figure out.
Ellen–When you are a new mother, the dirty secret is you don’t want a crown or a scepter, you just want to be left alone.
Erin—Preferably with a box of wine and a book. (Ellen’s raised eyebrow) It’s real wine.
Ellen— I’m sure it is.
Erin– But when you are old, all you want to do is gather everyone to your bosom.
Ellen— It’s a generational tug o’ war. Don’t forget choosing between your family and the in-laws.
Erin— That tug o’ war rope might make a lovely noose.
Don’t forget the landmines some of us are sidestepping on this “special day” like death, divorce, infertility, dysfunction, and estrangement.
Ellen– Whoa. I gotta lay down again.
Erin – Do you need a cold cloth?
Ellen– What I need is a scapegoat! Oh magic Google, who got us into this mess?
Erin— Ellen might have left the ranch at this point.
Magic Google brought us here!
Ellen – Check this out! This goes on and on about how this “holiday” has roots in ancient Egyptian, Roman, and Greek culture. I am not buying it. Do not pander to my intellectuality, you Mother’s Day machine!
Erin – Oh. My. Goodness.
Ellen– Okay, scrolling down. Here’s my target: Julia Ward Howe. This mess all started with her! This chick penned the Battle Hymn of the Republic.
Erin – Impressive!
Ellen—And during the Civil War she called mothers to come together and protest the futility of sons killing sons.
Erin– Noble!
Ellen– But her execution kinda flopped. She furthered her noble ideas with . . . parties.
Erin– Fail.
Ellen – Oh but wait, the fail becomes epic. She funded like 18 woman’s groups to have celebrations for several years, but once she stopped the money flow the holiday fizzled!
See? See!?!
The woman not only had to pay for her own party, but everyone else’s too. And once she stopped driving the gravy train, everyone bailed.
Erin– Sounds familiar.
Ellen– But this Mother’s Day idea won’t die. Fast forward to 1908. Our next perpetrator is Anna M. Jarvis. She CAMPAIGNED for the creation of an official Mother’s Day in remembrance of her mother and in honor of peace.
Erin—Oh my goodness, who has this kind of time?
Ellen– Well, remember, they didn’t have blogging back then.
Erin– Poor girl innocently started her campaign by giving flowers out in church.
Ellen –But apparently the flowers did what the Battle Hymn of the Republic could not. By 1909, while Mother’s Day was still not an official holiday, 46 states, Canada and parts of Mexico were celebrating it.
Erin – Ole, we made this misery multinational.
Ellen– But now in an extraordinary display of misplaced grief, Anna quit her job to promote this mess.
I don’t know if I can read anymore.
Erin – Where were her friends and neighbors to give her a reality check? She didn’t need to take this show on the road, she needed some love and attention. Kinda like Ellen right now.
Ellen– I’m fine. This is what incredulity with a side of defeat looks like. But it looks like her persistence paid off. She got somewhere. In 1912, West Virginia was the first state to make Mother’s Day official.
Ellen—And in 1914, Woodrow Wilson made it official.
Erin – Now it’s my turn for some incredulity! In the middle of the whole world war starting? Really?
Ellen—Maybe it was an economic move because listen to this: The Florist Review went so far as to print, “This was a holiday that could be exploited.”
It’s in quotes, it’s on the internet, it supports my point.
Erin—So it must be true.
Ellen—And truth is better than fiction. Now we get to the juicy.
Anna wigs out about all of the commercialization of her precious holiday. By 1923, she was SUING to stop Mother’s Day events.
Erin– Control freak much?
Ellen – It gets better! In the 1930’s, she was ARRESTED for disturbing the peace at the American War Mothers group. She was protesting their sale of FLOWERS. Hah!
Erin– Are you doing the math? This woman has been wrapped up in Mother’s Day for 2 decades. And now she’s going to jail over FLOWERS!
Ellen– But wait, she apparently has miles to travel before she is completely off the reservation.
The U.S. government chose to honor her mother with a postage stamp and did she just say “Thank you?”
No, she PROTESTED to get the words “Mother’s Day” removed.
Would I offend you?
Erin– Ouch! Way to turn on your creation, Dr. Frankenstein.
Ellen– Maybe she became aware of her freakishness over the flowers, because she moved onto bigger fish: copyrighting the words Mother’s Day.
Erin – There are no words. Were there support groups back then? Was she successful?
Ellen – Hell no! She had spent so much time anguishing over the floral industry that ship had sailed. And speaking of sailing ships, here is one of her last quotes.
[In opposition to the flower industry’s exploitation of the holiday]: “What will you do to route charlatans, bandits, pirates, racketeers, kidnappers, and other termites that would undermine with their greed one of the finest, noblest, and truest movements and celebrations?”
Erin– Wow.
Ellen– But the Florist Review had the last word, “Miss Jarvis was completely squelched.”
Erin– Like a termite?
Ellen –It’s in quotes.
Erin– So it must be true.
Do you want a glass of water?
Ellen – Wait! Here is the most cosmic karma part of it all! Anna Jarvis died in 1948—blind, poor, and childless.
Erin– It sounds like a bad country song. Should I laugh or cry? The choice always throw me.
Ellen – (reading slowly) “Jarvis would never know that it was, ironically, The Florist’s Exchange that had anonymously paid for her care.”
Erin – It WAS a conspiracy. This is exactly why I want to drive the karma bus. Otherwise, you could end up under it.
Ellen – Yeah, I’m not paying you for this session.
Erin – You don’t have your purse anyway.
Ellen – But I’m getting the duct tape now.
Hope your Mother’s Day was just grand! Here are some happy pictures of us on the big day with our kids!
