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When I was married, it was our unofficial tradition for me to be disappointed each Mother's Day. I had the same request every year: brunch at the historic inn in the next town over. And every year, my husband would forget,
My first Mother's Day as a single parent arrived just weeks after my husband left our family home. I was worried it would be a sad affair, but the opposite was true. I spent the morning gardening with my children, who were just 1 and 4 years old. The baby played with cups of water under a tree while my big boy helped plant a few flowers.
In the afternoon, some friends came over, and we lazed around the yard until dinner time when I ordered some pizzas to share. The day was simple yet full of love.
What a revelation that was — that Mother's Day is better when I'm not depending on someone else to make me happy or to acknowledge my worth.
Looking back, I can see that my Mother's Day angst was just one of many signs that our marriage was in trouble. The truth was he didn't think my contributions warranted celebration. Contrary to what we'd discussed while dating, he resented that I wasn't a more "traditional" wife doing all the child-rearing, that I expected him to parent equally, and that I hoped to be appreciated for what he saw as the barest of minimums.
Ultimately, he wanted someone more like his own mother — who worked a demanding job and then came home to do all the parenting and housework as well. He wanted someone who planned, shopped for, and executed each magical holiday, including her own Mother's Day.
Ironically, now I am that mother. I'm the breadwinner, the sole parent, and the only adult in charge. In our little family of three, it's all up to me — including any plans to celebrate me. But now, I don't mind as much.
The beauty of a single Mother's Day is that I can make it whatever I want. I don't have to wait for a partner to make a phone call, offering subtle or not-so-subtle hints on what I'm hoping for. There's no hoping that my partner will offer me a kid-free morning. I simply schedule a sitter. And there's no need to feel sad when I don't get a card because I already know how I feel about myself. I already know that I'm worthy.
I always carve out some time to spend with my own mom, sans kids, because that's time without the work and distraction of parenting when I can focus on her.
When I can swing it, I'll spend some time alone, too — ideally somewhere peaceful, like a walk or a paddle in my canoe. I've also visited bookstores and cafes and have even hidden in my room for a bit, the kids glued to cartoons elsewhere in the house when a sitter wasn't possible.
And then there are the kids, of course — the two wonderful people who made me a mother and who continue to keep me on my toes. I want to actually enjoy spending time with them on Mother's Day, so that means keeping the plan realistic and somewhat kid-focused with a game of basketball in our driveway, board games on the porch, or a walk in the woods. I remember to take a mental snapshot of the incredible people they are and how lucky I am to be their mom, because they are, and I am.
This year, they'll be 10 and 7 on Mother's Day, and while I don't think we're ready for a trip to the inn just yet, they are old enough to handle a casual brunch place, and the reservations are already made. Afterward, the plan is to drop the kids off with a sitter while I take my mom for pedicures, and then I'll take my canoe out for a solo paddle on one of my favorite rivers.
Who knows how it will actually go. The youngest may get his 12th cold of the season. Or the sitter will not show up. The creek may very well rise, and the day could just be too stormy for paddling. There will undoubtedly be some challenging moments along the way, as there always are.
But the day will be on my terms. I'm free to celebrate my strengths as a mother, as I see them, to enjoy having two healthy kids and my own mother still around to celebrate with, and the space to do it all my own way.
